Scarecrows In Fields
by Ruth Lechner
Summary: Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow/OC - Jonathan is obsessive and possessive of his love, Isabelle. Isabelle could sense when Scarecrow or Jonathan was there and changed according to that. Starts right at the beginning. Elements from other scarecrows in series. Does not feature the Batman at all in this story. I update frequently.
1. Chapter 1

Starts right at the beginning. Not the ACTUAL beginning, but a beginning I envision.

* * *

Scarecrows In Fields

* * *

Corn fields and a red barn passed by a blue, dusty window frame of a car as it rolled along the small town road. The owner of the car sat driving, biting their lip and pushing some straw blonde hair out of her face. Eyes scanning through the sunglasses in front of her eyes, she performed a left hand turn into a driveway and stopped the car at a shop.

The car door slammed after two legs built in jeans stepped out, rimmed in brown cowgirl boots. They ran into the livery and came out later with a bale of hay coming from the rear door, the handyman putting it into the back of her blue Chevy.

"Thanks, Rick," She said, striding around to the driver's door.

"Have a good one, Sally." He nodded and returned to his post in the shop, the Chevy revving, lights flashing on, leaving the driveway.

As she drove back home, her eye scanned the same corn fields she'd seen every day of her life and stopped on one with a scarecrow in the center. He had a red checkered shirt on and straw stuffed light blue jeans, his arms out straight like cardboard to the board he was pinned to. She heaved a sigh as she performed a right turn into her little dusty lane on her plot of land. It took a little while to drive to the house. She passed a rooster red barn on her right, a scarecrow in the wheat field to her left, and up ahead on the left and straight forward were corn and more wheat. She stopped in front of a small, rickety house that was dark brown, and looked like its shutters were falling off as well as a few panels of the wooden exterior. Sally had meant to fix it up, but economic times were hard and she had to put every bit of money she had into taking care of the farm, which then yielded her the only money she had.

She was alone to take care of herself. Her husband passed away before they even got their honeymoon – it'd been postponed. They'd been trying to save up for a better living in retirement than what they had then, thinking they'd have their honeymoon then. They thought they had all the time in the world to get to it. But Frank passed of cancer to an organ in the stomach, Sally wouldn't name it because of its long, complicated name. She'd used the funds they'd saved up for retirement to buy a bigger farm. A fixer upper, sure, but with time and effort the fields and animals would yield more profit than her last barely 1 acre land had for her. She now had 5 acres and alone, it was a lot to work in a day.

Throwing the bale of hay in the barn for the horses that were already munching, Sally marched up to the front door of her house and opened the fly gate before passing through the front door. Inside the house was no one but herself. Her footsteps could be heard marching into the living room. She passed a mantel piece with only a picture of herself and her late husband and a 'you're moving!' card from the gals down yonder. The afternoon set shone through the window, and Sally took a seat on the couch in the barely furnished room, taking off her cowgirl hat and pushing her suntanned skin, marked with crow's feet and smile lines, into the palm of her dirty hand. A sigh.

* * *

Sally passed corn fields and a billboard sign on the way. She pulled a cigarette out of her mouth and blew, before she took a turn into a parking lot. Next to her on the seat was a four year old. She put the cigarette back in her mouth and got out, closing the door behind her. The little girl unbuckled her own seat belt, opened the silver latch of the door and jumped down from the car seat, her little hands pulling the white dress from her bum and pushing it down so it would be flat like she'd seen the adults do.

She walked around the car and joined her mother, who projected the image of strong, confident, and fearless. Her skin was like suntanned leather and the crows feet in her eyes had only deepened. The lines on her lips had sharpened. On her she was wearing a black and red checkered shirt with light blue jeans, the rims filled with cowgirl boots. Her daughter was much different, dressed in a smock dress with little white shoes. She held her mother's hand, and the larger, stronger, calloused hand held the supple, soft ones of the child.

Together they walked, or marched in the mothers' case, to the new shop in town labeled 'toys R us'. It was new and it was big and shiny and fancy, with neon letters for the sign.

The country folk were flocking to it cautiously, wearily. The suntanned mother was the only one that approached it bravely. The bell chimed when they entered the shop and air conditioning breathed onto them, making everybody who entered twitter and murmur in excitement and pleasant surprise. No shops in town had air conditioning, and it was bigger than every shop in town too. Everybody that entered was dirty with dust and dirt and felt unkept and simple next to the crisp, clean, expensive whiteness that covered every inch of the shop, the counters, cashier desks, aisles, even shined down from the expensive luminous bulbs, that no doubt did that crazy thing that was efficient in its use of electricity that folks sometimes heard about from newspapers or rumors.

Sally took off her sunglasses and folded them neatly into the front of her blouse, looking about the store with determination in her blonde brow.

"Mus' be sumthin' for you here, baby girl," The four year old walked obediently with her mother when her mother marched forward again, running to keep up with the fast pace of her long striding legs. They came to an isle, and her big mother let go of her hand and the little girl felt scared. "G'on now, find somethin'. Don' be shy."

The girl looked up at her mother, then obediently turned around and left down the aisle with big green dinosaurs, then at the end action man figurines. Sally turned and looked at the dinosaurs, picking one up and squeezing its softness. The velvet of the cuddly skin must have cost more than the water did for their laundry for the month. How ridiculous.

The little girl walked to the adjacent aisle where there was lots of pink and saw another girl there, playing with a Barbie doll still in a box. The girl was with her mother, who was as equally blonde as her, and when the girl saw her she brightened with a gasp. She gave the Barbie doll box to her mother and ran over, shoes slapping into the white linoleum floor, and smiled with a gaped tooth mouth at the brown haired girl.

"I'm Sherri! You look like a Barbie doll with that dress!" said the girl, humming as she grinned. The girl looked at her dress then at the shelves of endlessly smiling Barbie dolls, full of pink and bright blue eyes. She didn't know what the other girl meant, and didn't really understand her anyway.

"Thank you." She said, being polite like her mother told her to around people, her accent far thicker than the girl in front of her. The girl just smiled again.

"What's your name?"

"Isabelle."

"That's pretty!"

Isabelle felt tired that she had to say the same thing twice. "Thanks."

She pulled herself taller so her back was straight like her mother taught her 'people fear your presence if you show them you're not afraid'. Isabelle didn't know what that meant, but she would copy her mother.

"Sherri, come on," the gentle voice of Sherri's mother called. Sherri turned around to see her mother beckon to her with the open fronted Barbie doll box in her hand.

"Bye! See ya later!" The girl scampered off with her mother, bouncing along excitedly next to her as they turned a corner.

Isabelle looked at both sides of the isle, and picked a Barbie doll off the shelf she could reach, pulling it along next to her as she made her way back to her mother. Upon seeing her mother, she felt silly for liking something so girly and so pink. Something that that weak Sherri would like. She placed the box on a dinosaur and walked over to her mother, who turned around to look at her from the stand selling sunglasses.

"D'ya find anythin', doll?"

Isabelle slowly shook her head.

"Awe, now tha's too bad. Why don' we take a look togetha, hm?" Sally moved towns many times during her little girl's first year, eventually finding the place they were in now. Her accent was far thicker than the folks in town, and they looked at her when they heard the stronger accent, making Isabelle look at them wonderingly.

Mother took Daughter's hand and they walked together through the shop.


	2. Chapter 2

The deep blue Chevy came to a rolling stop at the front door of someone's home, the little girl in the front seat looking out the window. The driver's door slammed.

"Just be one minute, baby." said her mother and the girl watched her mother stride strongly to the front door step of their last stop for the day.

As her mother conversed with the elderly couple inside, Isabelle, now five, looked out of the window.

As Sally started up the car again, she got a phone call. She put down the phone, biting her lip and cursing. Then apologizing, telling Isabelle that a lady should talk like a lady and that was no way to talk.

"One more stop before we go home, pumpkin. I promise."

Isabelle blinked but said nothing as she stared out of the window. She didn't mind.

They rolled along the dirt road for a while longer than they usually did – it turned out this pit stop was further out from town than most were.

"It's for the business," Sally sighed, stepping on the brakes and stopping the car. "Ms. Crane hasn't been paying her bill. I'll just go talk to her, see what's goin' on, angel. Stay in the car." She left the front door partially open, intent on the conversation being brief and coming back soon. She jumped up two white steps and then knocked solidly on the white netted door, the shaky thing slamming as she did so, Sally's boots making deep knocks on the porch as she idly moved, her hands in her back pockets.

Isabelle looked out the window, and noticed how the corn fields behind Ms. Crane's house were completely overrun and unkept. There stood a lone chapel, with the cross at the top lopsided, and the bricks looked worn and some even missing. Out in the field stood a lone scarecrow, lopsided too, and looked weathered and the burlap sack for a face to be worn by the weather.

"Jonathan!" yelled an old woman's voice. Isabelle jumped from inside the car, her heart racing at it.

Nothing else could be heard, and a little while later the shutter door banged against the side of the house as Sally walked out, more out of force than anger. She pulled out her sunglasses from the front of her blouse and put them on.

"That'll be all, Ms. Crane, thank you."

An elderly woman hobbled with a cane to the front door right after her mother, her mother towering over the hunched woman with short, curly white hair and wicked blue eyes.

"Yes. Have a good day now. God bless you."

Sally marched with large steps to the side of the truck, seating herself in the squeaky leather and slamming the door shut. The engine roared to life and the woman waved as the Chevy rolled away.

"I don't like that woman." Sally rolled her shoulders, shivering. "Got a bad feeling from that one. Have since the day I met her."

Isabelle also had a bad feeling in her gut.

* * *

Sally had started a lawn caring business on the side for more money quite some time ago. It took six months to get it up off the ground, and all their savings, but once it was going it was going. It didn't take long for the word to get out, Sally and some laborers she hired went to tend to other people's farms and care for their lawns. Ms. Crane had been a grateful client-to-be when Sally had gone house calling for clients, saying how her good for nothing charge couldn't do it himself. But she wasn't paying her bills to Sally's employees, who now had grown a few that she didn't need to be there all the time working and could tend to her own fields, and so Sally had to go pick up the money on her own. But she'd pulled out her services quickly after that – knowing implicitly that the woman would never pay again. She hadn't thought Sally had the guts to go and get the money from her, and now that she knew she did, she would be waiting with some excuse next time. It was a one time thing, because Ms. Crane had been caught off guard.

* * *

Sally named her daughter Isabelle because it was the prettiest name she could think of. She dressed her daughter in a pretty white smock dress whenever she went out – the only girlish clothes she had – so that her daughter would dress and grow up to be a lady. She wanted Isabelle to have pretty things, things she'd never had growing up and being a farmers' daughter. His motto was all work and no play keeps the doctor away. She had always rebelled against his ideal, and his hard-to-earn, even unearnable, love. He passed away before she ever got to earn it, and he ever got to give her the things a girl should have. She wanted Isabelle to have these things easy, the things she'd struggled for as a child. That's why when they went out people stared at the little girl, because she was the only one dressed finely in a town of dust and tumbleweeds. Compared to her mother, they were opposites.

Isabelle slammed the Chevy door shut, and Sally pulled down her sunglasses and leaned up so she could see her daughter outside of the car, with a little black back pack strapped on her shoulders.

"Be gurd and have fun at school, kay?"

The girl nodded and the Chevy waited until Isabelle had disappeared into the school doors before lighting up and driving away.

Isabelle didn't like school. It was boring. When they moved to this town she'd ignored the other children, because if it was like the other towns they'd move again and there was no point in making friends. As a year went by and they stayed in this town, Isabelle started to talk more and interact with the other children. The boys looked at her a lot for a reason she couldn't tell but was annoyed by and the girls, at first, wanted to play with her a lot. Playtime was slightly more boring than being in the classroom.

When she became unpopular with the girls because of her blunt ways and her bossy nature when they played, they left her alone and that was the way Isabelle liked it. She got to be in her own world as the dreary hours of school passed by. Sometimes when she talked, the children would look at her like they had forgotten she was there. She never answered questions in class because someone else would always answer and she found the games the children played at playtime boring and stupid, so she didn't speak much. The teacher would give them tests and she would answer the questions and give it back, uncaring for the letter on the piece of paper she received.

Isabelle was waiting outside the school for her mother to pick her up, her backpack on the ground next to her because she couldn't be bothered to put it on. The sun was hot and she stood in the shade, yet her white dress still stuck to her in some places. The breeze through her sleeves cooled her, so she wouldn't put on her back pack.

"Boo!"

A boy jumped out with toy snakes, thrusting them both at her with a scary, ugly face morphed into a grin.

She didn't move, didn't react, only looking at him like he was weird. She'd known he was there.

He'd been moving from girl to girl in the class, jumping out at them and scaring them.

She looked away from him to see if her mother was coming down the road yet.

Jonathan was a tall, gangly boy for his age with reddish brown hair and what he felt was an ugly face.

He wore rags for clothes and when he wasn't scaring the other children, mainly girls because their screams and looks of fear on their faces were far more fun, he was the bookworm. He only came out of his books to scare other children – mainly because their acceptance was so hard to win, he could just make them afraid instead. It was so much easier to accomplish, something they gave freely to him. Acceptance, and love, with his looks and serious interests in books was like a death sentence in school, even in a town this small. Fear, fear they would hand him like they handed love and acceptance to everyone else.

When the snakes didn't get the desired effect, and she glanced away from him, Jonathan thought something was wrong with her. Didn't girls start screaming at the sight of snakes? At things so scary as snakes?

Foiled, Jonathan trudged away and not too long after a blue Chevy came to pick up the girl. She hopped in, the door slam closed, and then the car drove away.


	3. Chapter 3

The ride home was silent but pleasant. Sally questioned Isabelle on her day and as usual, it was 'fine'.

They turned into their farm and drove up to their front door. Both females got out the car right as Sally got a phone call. Isabelle stopped and played with a strap of her backpack, waiting to see if she could go with her mother.

Sally clicked the 'end call' button on her phone and sighed.

"Looks like we have some new prospective customers that need to talk to me." She gave Isabelle a look with raised brows. "Oh, and Ms. Crane gave me a call today. It turns out she wants my services again. Apparently she tried a business from out of town and said she preferred mine. So, I'm going down to Ms. Crane's house. Wanna come, doll?"

Isabelle hopped into the car happily. She preferred to be with her mother over being alone in the house.

"There's my girl," praised Sally and she prepared to turn on the car. "Wait a minute, wait a minute, what about your homework?"

"I don't have homework," Isabelle lied. She looked out the window.

"Mmhm," Sally said disbelievingly. "Well, we won't be long. We'll be back in no time then you can finish your homework and we'll have dinner. Sound good, baby doll?"

"Yes."

* * *

The sun was setting into the middle of the afternoon and the corn fields passed by, waving in the gentle summer wind, which for once was cool.

Isabelle was looking out of the window when Sally squinted and leaned up in her seat, her lip curling and showing her white teth as she tried to see underneath the sun. She pulled down her sunshade in the car above her head.

"I think that's Ms. Crane's boy,"

Isabelle looked over. Indeed, it looked like Jonathan, walking home on his own along the side of the long, lonely road.

The Chevy pulled over smoothly.

"Excuse me! Jonathan!" The boy spooked, and looked fearfully towards the voice, then relaxing. His eyes lit up in recognition at the two in the car. "Do you need a ride? I'm on the way over ter yer grandama!"

The passenger door slammed shut.

"Thank you." His voice was quiet.

Sally looked at the thin, gangly boy through the rear view mirror then focused on the road.

* * *

"Oh, there he is! Thank you for bringing him home from school, Sally,"

"No trouble at all, ma'am. He was walkin' on the side o' the road. Couldn't just leave him there in this heat."

"Of course, dear." Ms. Crane said motheringly. "Do you want to come inside for a drink? I have lemonade, how about your little girl there?"

"Isabelle and I need to head on out soon,"

"Oh alright."

Sally looked to Jonathan and Isabelle.

"'belle, why don't you go and play with Johnny outside or sumthin'?"

"Yes, that would be a good idea," agreed Ms. Crane with a crone's smile.

* * *

They were outside in the front lawn. The grass was dirt brown, burnt from the sun, and the corn fields behind were yellow and brown and uninviting. The two just stood there, unsure of what to do.

"..."

Isabelle didn't know what to say to start a conversation. This was a different boy than she'd known in her school, that boy was the joker, the clown, not for the class but he caused ruckus whenever he felt like it – whenever he wasn't reading. Isabelle knew that bullies took his books, but it's not like she kept track of how much time he spent doing what. By all the screams he caused and the trouble he got in with teachers, everybody knew him.

Jonathan kicked some grass, looking down at it, scraping his old worn shoe against the ground repeatedly. He squinted up at the sky, then out to the messy cornfield, and the ditched, gaping chapel he'd spent the night in before.

"So… what do you like to do? For fun?" asked Isabelle, her face squinting at him from the light of the sun.

Jonathan shrugged.

"Read, mostly."

Isabelle shifted. She didn't read a lot, she found it boring and useless. She wanted to be told facts, not discover different people's feelings. Besides, her mother would rather buy her dolls than science books.

"I like science." She said.

He sharply looked to her like she was weird. He had such a piercing stare but she levelled it. He kept looking at her and she looked away and smoothed down her white smocked dress just in case the wind had flipped up the back and exposed her little white underwear. That would be embarrassing, and she honestly couldn't tell except for when she felt wind on the backs of her thighs. The dress was the one she wore the most out in public. She got teased because of it a lot. She didn't have any other clothes as nice as this because she didn't go out often. Around the house she wore other dresses, but this one was for outings, her mother had said. She was surprised Jonathan hadn't commented on it. But he also wore a lot of the same clothes, she was just realizing. That shirt and those shoes he'd worn the day before.

"Girls don't like science." He said judgmentally.

Isabelle shrugged.

"I do."

She kicked her foot on the ground like he did.

"What part of science?" He asked eventually, cautiously.

She shrugged.

"All of it. I'm studying the human body at the moment." It'd been a book on anatomy in the back of the Chevy one day. Her mother had shrugged and said she'd studied it when she was pregnant with her to better get to know things. Although it did have a lot on pregnancy and the health of the baby, Isabelle was fascinated about the parts on the human body.

"I like the mind." He said intensely. "I'm fascinated with fear, the way the mind works. Obsession."

She looked down at the ground again, both because it was bright and she was thinking. His house really had no sunshade around the perimeter like the other houses she'd visited had.

She didn't know anything about that topic. The books at school were all about characters going on adventures around the house and naming objects and discovering other dimensions, or something.

"Can you tell me about it?" She asked curiously.

Jonathan looked surprised, but he smiled widely and a little creepily.

"Gladly!"


	4. Chapter 4

When the shutter door creaked open and Sally walked out heavily in her boots, she found Jonathan and her baby girl standing in the yard and the boy talking, her baby girl listening. They were facing one another, standing still, the boy using his arms to gesticulate, his words rolling endlessly and without a breath, like she'd vaguely heard from inside while talking to Ms. Crane.

"'belle, we're goin' now." She called, walking down the three steps to the paved path and the car.

Isabelle turned around and saw her mother. She turned back. She was digesting everything Jonathan told her. It was interesting.

"Goodbye, Jonathan," She said, looking at him, before turning around and hopping into the passenger side of the car. The engine sounded like someone clearing their throat as it vibrated to life and then, just like that, they were gone.

* * *

"RAR!"

A big, fake, black spider dangled from a string in front of her vision. She narrowed her eyes, then turned and stared apathetically at the boy behind her.

"You're weird." She said. He danced around her desk, unperturbed, and she returned with her pencil to her worksheet, which she hadn't started at the same time as everyone else because she didn't want to. Now everyone was playing, she could work on it on her own without her pace being measured or compared to the other students'.

"It's a big, black spider, Isabelle! Quick, run!"

She batted the jiggling spider away.

"Go away. I'm trying to work." She said calmly.

He snickered, but left. Some of the other girl's screamed at it not too long later.

* * *

There was a new girl, and she was put in the seat next to Isabelle. She had skin the colour of hot chocolate, which Isabelle thought was quite pretty because she'd never seen it before in their small town, and her jet black hair was stiff no matter which way she moved her head, it was done in two ponytail like things in bunches of green, pink and purple ties. Isabelle and Sophie were the two quietest members at their table. Isabelle liked that, but she didn't like it when Sophie copied her work.

"Isabelle, let Sophie copy from you. It's the first day, she doesn't know what we're doing," said the compassionate teacher with a kind smile at Sophie. "Just until she gets settled and she understands what we're doing."

Isabelle reluctantly shared her book with the other girl, who copied down her answers to the questions.

* * *

Isabelle sat outside on a bench at lunchtime. The playground was out back behind the small school. It consisted of a small grassy area, some swings, a large oak tree, and then a bench. The bench was Isabelle's. Although it was in the shade and therefore desirable, it was off in the corner that many children called creepy, although she didn't see why. She felt quite at home.

The teacher came over, Sophie next to her in a light purple dress that looked almost as formal as Isabelle's. She was a tall girl for her age.

"Isabelle, would you let Sophie play with you today?"

Isabelle wanted to correct her and tell her that she didn't play at all, which made her 'boring' and a 'killjoy' to the other children, but she nodded politely and obediently.

The teacher beamed.

"Thank you Isabelle, that's very kind of you."

Sophie slowly took a seat next to her. The teacher walked away.

"This bench is the outcast bench." Isabelle said. "If you want friends, go to the swings."

Sophie looked at her for a long time and Isabelle wondered why people did that. Sophie didn't even glance at the group of girls and a separate group of boys at the swings, the girls playing with Barbie dolls and braiding each others' hair.

"I'm used to being the outcast."

Isabelle was quiet. To Sophie it looked like she was staring into the playground where children dressed in all colours played energetically, but her eyes were glazed over like she was thinking. They sat in silence for the whole playtime.

* * *

At the last third of the day where it was between lunchtime and the end of school Isabelle finished her worksheet quickly as she always did at this time of day and pulled out her anatomy book. She flipped it open to one page where it briefly named the bones in the body and she went over it a few times, one of the only pages in there that interested her. The rest was about pregnancy and the baby.

"What's that you're reading?" Isabelle looked up in surprise to her right at Sophie. It was the first time she had instigated conversation.

Isabelle closed the book and showed her the bright pink cover, with a nude diagram of a pregnant belly and a baby growing inside.

Sophie chuckled and read the title.

"Oh okay."

Some other boy noticed her book as she began reading again and pointed it out,

"Ew! She's reading about _pregnancy!_"

"Ew! Pregnancy!" joined in another boy.

"What's pregnancy?" asked another boy quietly, but another boy hit his arm to shush him.

"Yeah! There's a gross baby in there and everything!"

"EW!" chorused some girls.

Isabelle looked over them with dark eyes and frowned, before choosing to read her book again.

Conversations started all over the class about the book she was reading, with people snickering and laughing.

"Children, children, settle down," tried the teacher. "Focus. Do your work." With last laughs, the topic of conversation moved on.

* * *

"Isabelle, what book are you reading?" asked the teacher at break the next day. Isabelle wordlessly handed it over without eye contact.

"My momma gave it to me." She said lowly, just sitting on the bench.

The teacher closed the book cover with a flip and her eyebrows raised.

"Your mother did?" She gave it back, laughing nervously.

Isabelle took the book back, not seeing anything wrong with it. Was there something wrong with the book? After so many reactions that way, she was wondering what was wrong with it.

"Yes." She agreed lowly like this conversation was beneath her, or not worth her time.

"Hm." The teacher folded her arms under her bosom and tapped her chin. "Isabelle, some of the teachers, admin, and I have gotten together, wondering if we should put you in a higher class. You know, just up one grade, so you can be with people more of your intellect. What do you think?"

Isabelle itched to open her book and read, but knew that was impolite as her mother had told her. So she just stared down at it and replied lowly,

"I think if you think that is best, I'm willing to try it."

The teacher beamed.

"I'll just have to talk to your mother and father first, see if they agree. Will your daddy come and pick you up this afternoon?"

Now Isabelle did really open her book.

"Don't have a daddy." She said solidly, looking unseeingly at the contents of the book.

"Oh. Okay." The teacher said as sensitively to the information as she could. "Alright then, I'll have a chat with your mommy after school. Why don't you go and play with the other children? You're always all the way over here."

"Other children are boring, and stupid." She said clearly, her opinion clear.

The teacher laughed.

"Why won't you try and play with them? I'm sure it won't be so boring then."

Isabelle looked up into the teacher's eyes.

"No thank you, Ms. I tried that. It was more inane to play than to watch them play."

* * *

While her teacher talked with her mother in the hallway, Isabelle looked around for something to do. Her book was in her backpack, and she didn't feel like getting it out now. She walked down the lit hallway to the entrance hall of the school, going outside to feel the breeze, making sure to stay in sight so her mother could see her when she would look up to check on her.

"Boo!" Isabelle jumped a little and turned around irritatedly to see Jonathan. "Ha! Got you that time!"

She was only frowning, but didn't answer him. Jonathan circled her, looking at her interestedly. She turned away from him and walked away a little, folding her arms. The wind picked up her white smock dress that was a little dirty from dust.

Jonathan looked at the girl, the one who had listened to him talk about his interests, all with patient listening, without judgment, without interruption, and then at the end still didn't judge him. She was pretty. Brown hair, brown eyes, and she wore the same dress every day and wore her hair the same way every day, just down.

"Did I scare you, Isabelle?" Jonathan came over, chuckling. "Did I?"

Isabelle sighed.

"A little, yes."

Jonathan snickered, putting his hands together.

"So it isn't snakes, or spiders, just the unexpected that you're afraid of," He pointed out. She shrugged, then turned around and went inside, feeling instantly cooler and walked to her mother, slipping her hand into her larger, stronger, suntanned one. Isabelle looked up at her mother.

She looked nothing like her mother. Her mother said, when she briefly spoke about her father, that she took more after her father than she did of her mother. Her skin was pale, her eyes were brown and her hair was brown. Her mother was tanned, strongly built, had blue eyes and blonde hair.

"So what do you think, Isabelle? Wanna move up a grade?" Her mother asked, peering down at her, her sunglasses on her head.

"I think that would be wise. So Isabelle can be with other people who learn at her pace." The teacher butted in. It didn't matter either way to Isabelle. She nodded.

"Alright, baby." said her mother as Isabelle stared at the colour of the floor and the teacher smiled.

"I'll get started on the paperwork right away."

* * *

Don't give up hope here. I'm just ending this here so that – well, you'll see in the next chapter.


	5. Chapter 5

He'd always found that fear was much easier to win than friends. It just sort of happened one day by accident. He'd been trying to talk to Sherri, then she turned around and screamed at his arrival. Suddenly, everyone was looking at him. And it had been so easy. Suddenly he'd gotten all the attention he wanted, only in a different form, if only for a brief moment and Jonathan had to do it again. He'd become fascinated with fear.

* * *

"And she even listened to me all the way through…"

Crows circled overhead above the open ceilinged chapel as the evening set in. Jonathan sat on a pile of bricks, just picking at the threading of a burlap sack in his hands. It listened. It listened to everything he said. Comforted him. Guided him. It hadn't been too long ago that he was starting to accept the thing more and more into his life.

The sack listened to his woes and stories of his day, of his life. Of his grandmother, the children at school, the bullies, his books and his theories. The girl – Isabelle. She was a new topic of conversation as of late.

_Excellent, Jonathan. This girl sounds nice._

"She is… I wonder when she will turn like all the others…"

_Not me, though, Jonathan. Never me, _replied the deadly, raspy voice. Jonathan nodded, feeling comforted. _Not you, Scarecrow._

_Yess….._

* * *

No one knew that wherever Jonathan went, he took Scarecrow with him. Not in the literal sense of the burlap sack, no, Scarecrow was now a presence inside his mind that he could take with him wherever he went. And on that day many years ago when Jonathan met Isabelle, Scarecrow met Isabelle too.

* * *

"And today, Sherri almost looked my way, today. Just so close!" swore Jonathan.


	6. Chapter 6

Isabelle sat on her white bed with her mother combing her hair. Everything in her room was white or pink, with the exception of her soft lavender bed. There were china dolls on the connected shelf on her jewellery table, a white unicorn on her bed along with a brown cartoonized squirrel and a pink bunny – her mother's favorite.

It was only as her mother was brushing her hair that she noticed Isabelle's usual dress was dirty.

"Oh, Isabelle. We need ta wash that." She gently pinched the tuft sleeve of the dress, shaking it. Isabelle didn't want to take it off – she'd done her whole routine already and she didn't want to re-dress. But she got up, knowing it wasn't right to wear something that other people perceived as dirty, and got changed into a soft pink dress, the next on the shelf.

"Ah, there." Sally smiled. "Now come and let me do my baby girl's hair." Sally did her little girl's hair in a ponytail today with a bobble.

Once it was done, Isabelle scurried to the front door and got in the car, her mother chuckling at her daughter's eagerness to get to school.

* * *

Once Isabelle was inside the building, she took out her hair from the up do, the receptionist seeing her do so.

"Oh dear, why don't you leave your hair up? It looks so pretty." The girl glared at the receptionist and the receptionist quickly went back to what she was doing. The six year old put the hair tie on her wrist and ran to her classroom before she was late.

The teacher marked them down on the paper register and the day began.

* * *

"Ew, look at Isabelle."

"Yeah, she looks different today."

"Finally ditched the white frock, princess?" called one of them. The girls.

Isabelle ignored them, as she always did, and entered the bathroom, the door swinging closed behind her. She went into a stall so they couldn't follow her, and spent playtime there, reading her book. Now she was in an older class, the older girls were meaner, and so were the boys.

* * *

When the bell rang, Isabelle left the bathroom just minutes before she would be late. She walked out of the bathroom, still engrossed in her book, and walked down the hallway slowly, unable to really pull away from her book. That is, until she smashed into someone and her science book went clattering to the floor.

She sighed irritatedly and bent to pick it up, hoping no pages were creased. She looked up and met the face of Jonathan.

He'd developed quite an eye for her, looking at her when he thought she wasn't looking. It often escaped her attention, but she knew when she was being watched. Call it a sixth sense, when one got bullied enough.

"…Hi Jonathan." She sighed, before walking around him, opening up her book again.

"Nose in a book, still, Isabelle? Haven't seen you round much,"

Why did he care? She thought absently, changing to a page on the blood when she suddenly realized the time and ran to class.

For some reason, Jonathan followed her.

"I'm in your class too, now. Have been for a while." He grinned as they entered the doorway. Here was where the bullying really began – by the 'smarter' kids. He'd become more reclusive now he'd been moved to this grade. No longer was he so overt in figuring out people's fears. Just because he was less obvious didn't mean it stopped. He was now subtle.

"Alright." She said slowly, parting from him to go to her seat.

* * *

Isabelle came home in tears. She wiped them, furiously sniffing. She cried in her room for hours, her smashed book in smithereens on her floor and torn, grass smudged dress on the floor too, having changed. She choked and sobbed and cried, bawling into her little hands. It had never been so bad before.

She couldn't be a little girl anymore. She pulled the annoying bauble off of her wrist, and picked up her dress and put it, completely frightened of the world, in the bin. Thank goodness it was only the pink one, and not the white one, her favorite.

Her mother had been out supervising a job on someone's lawn, so she didn't see what was going on with her daughter. Isabelle went into the bathroom and for the first time she cleaned herself up after a bullying incident. It was terrifying to do alone, but she knew how to turn on the shower, and how to scrub off stains in the kitchen sink, since they tried to wash clothes as little as possible to save money.

* * *

Isabelle was snuggled in tight to her covers with her small brown teddy bear and small pink bunny. She'd hidden her unicorn to give her a better sense of her independence, but hadn't the heart to remove her two other toys she'd always had. She'd gone to bed at 8, the babysitter leaving not too long after. In the darkness of the room, Isabelle felt a shadow come near her from behind.

No, don't, she thought, but it came closer. Okay, fine, she thought, there's always room for one more. The shadow came closer, and she felt straw against her hair, saw a spindly dark arm take her waist, and spindly legs leaned against the back of her own in a way she could feel every inch of it and its presence took up her mind because it felt tingly and no one had laid against her like that before.

Night, she whispered in her head to the creature, trying not to shift against the straw and then it would itch.


	7. Chapter 7

Isabelle started to dress differently, alternating her dresses every day, changing her socks, and even alternating every now and then between a pair of white shoes and a pair of black shoes, depending on what her mother picked out for her every day. This was all done to minimize the attention on her.

Now that she was a grade higher, grades mattered. They were more important than before. Isabelle threw herself into her studies more. She went down to the local library often, the only library in town, asking her mother to take her there instead of letting her tag along on her jobs like before. She would spend all day in there, just reading, both for her own pleasure, and she would do homework in there too. It was the only quiet place she could be without an adult hovering over her, like her babysitter Miranda.

Miranda was a good, simple young woman. She had a transparent heart and had a dimple scar on her temple, which many people looked at when she talked to them. Her smile would always crease into her left cheek and not her right, and she had worked very hard in school to be able to work for Wayne Enterprises while she went to college in a place called Gotham, her tuition paid for. Her dedication to her studies gave Isabelle the inspiration to delve into her own boring, mindless, busy work. If she did it well and did it right, she could also be important and work for something as big and important as Wayne Enterprises.

Miranda would be leaving soon to go to college. Isabelle would be turning seven.

Acceptance of her peers was hard to come by, for Isabelle. No matter that she was pretty, it was the things she said. She spoke differently to the other children, and had to consciously filter all her words to reign in her blunt, honest, bossy nature. It only helped some. The other children alienated her. She was younger than them and smarter than them – only because she paid attention in class and gave the impression of being very serious and studious; it was like a magnet repelling every student in a mile radius. She liked to be correct, so she made sure she got everything correct, but that gave everyone the impression she was smart when she just had a good memory. It was exhausting to explain this. And Isabelle hated to repeat herself, so she accepted the perception when it spread like wildfire and all she had was her spit.

Isabelle liked science because it explained the world around her. Nothing else did that. Not her mother, not any of the children. Their explanations were useless, and not complete. Only books, only science could give her that. Make her feel safe in the world around her, because she'd understand how it worked. The teachers would sometimes give her excellent explanations and make her understand, but most of the time they were trying to keep order in the class. And Isabelle had too many questions for them to be satisfied in class without taking up every minute of the teacher's time. So she kept it to herself, and studied on her own, because her intensity on each subject - it wasn't fair to hog the teachers time when they had other minds to enlighten and Isabelle could always find the answer in a book.

Isabelle had not known that her mother very much supported her studies, until one day she was doing her homework and the dog was being too loud, barking at the scarecrow outside. She told it to be quiet, she was studying, then her mother for the first time in Isabelle's life shushed the dog. It had been a powerful, awe-inspiring moment for Isabelle.

She didn't fit in with the other girls, not interested in their interests, and found their excessive talking of personal things exhausting. The boys were tolerable, so Isabelle would sometimes hang out with them in the playground, when they weren't teasing her, that is. A group of neutral boys were those that she was usually around. They would play games with Yu-Gi-Oh cards and Pokemon cards, or play conkers with stray acorns they'd found. There were no chestnut trees in their town. But most of the time the boys got boring, and Isabelle would be alone again, reading on her bench or in a bathroom stall. Soon, because of her extra exposure to another grade with a different lunch schedule and class schedule than her previous grade, she became known as a bookworm too like Jonathan.

She hadn't bonded with Jonathan in her new grade. She just hadn't. She was alone in her little world. The material in this grade was harder, much harder, and she had to do the extra work to catch up for the half a year she'd skipped. It was a lonely time with only her books, her work and her.

It was only when her mother asked her one day on the way home from school how Jonathan was doing that Isabelle blinked and remembered him. She'd been so engrossed in getting her mountain of work done that she never heard the taunts and teasing towards the other boy. Isabelle ignored the words of all her peers – they were always cruel. If they were positive, it was snide. What had happened to the children?

Isabelle was constantly irritated by her classmates if she ever listened to them. They spoke of such inane, asinine things – obvious things, or things that should not ever be spoken because they were so stupid it would make trees wilt and flowers grow dark. It would kill fish in lakes, that's how stupid and unwholesome it was; its ignorance.

* * *

When Sally spoke of Isabelle's father, it was with wonder and praise. Sometimes it held a touch of sadness that Isabelle could hear and see. But her father had always fascinated her, and she longed to hear the stories of how they met over and over again, and the story of how he'd wrestled a black bull, and how he'd once fixed the irrigation system of his hometown in the middle of a heat wave, the town just the next one over from her mother's. He was Isabelle's hero, even though she'd never met him. Sally told her daughter of how he'd died one day of a heart attack. He was 39.

* * *

Another night when she was lying in bed again, it came again. She'd forgotten about it but pulled back her covers behind her, not looking, as he -she knew it was a he, it just was - got in behind her. Tonight there was a low, raspy, ghostly hum as the creatures arm slid around her waist on top of the lavender duvet that crinkled as he did so. She moved around to get comfortable and straw touched her hair and a front with legs leaned against her back.

'I hope this thing feels accepted' She thought about the shadow behind her. She felt acceptance of it in her heart. It came every night now, but Isabelle welcomed it every time. They only lay together through the night, although Isabelle didn't remember much of it because she was always asleep, and half asleep when it came. She didn't think too deeply about it, brain addled and tired from her studying through the day.


	8. Chapter 8

Isabelle was taught to work on the farm young. Her mother had wanted her to stay in the house and not work on the farm – be a lady. But funds were tight and she didn't have ranch hands or a babysitter yet, so Sally had to bring Isabelle out with her to work. Isabelle couldn't do much on her own because she didn't know how to do it, but she helped her mother move things, held the horse by the lead rope when Sally needed to shoe him or clean his hooves, and roll straw down to the barn for the goats. Sally originally wanted to just keep Isabelle with her and not have her do any work like Sally was forced into young. But Isabelle had been eager to help her mother. When Miranda came along and Sally's lawn caring business started yielding profits, Sally hired ranch hands and the work was done every day, letting Isabelle focus on her work and Sally have a rest, when she was working on the business, of course.

Isabelle had no hobbies to speak of, which Sally noticed but she wasn't too worried. Isabelle was occupied with studying, and that's what mattered out there in the real world.

Sally let Isabelle help her every now and then though, when she finished her work, to give Isabelle something to do. There wasn't a lot to do in the small town, it was quite boring actually for young people. But she gave Isabelle errands and taught her how to work on the farm when it was her ranch hands' days off. Sally had given them a day off because she still wanted to feel like the farm was hers, that she was working on her _own _farm. If she let too many other people work on it and never herself, she would lose the sense she'd grown up with – of living and working on a farm.

* * *

It started to rain. Sally was inside cooking dinner already. Isabelle had just finished feeding the horses, the goats, the chickens and dragged the bucket to the pigs before pouring it into the trough, her gown getting wet. Feeding the animals was a quick and easy job. She didn't mind dirt on her white gown, but when it rained it made the work slower and harder to do. She covered her hair with her hand and ran towards the house, jumping inside the door and shutting it closed.

She quickly threw off her gown into the hamper, her mother chiding her for going out again in her gown and pajamas. But it was the weekend and no one came around to see, reasoned Isabelle.

Isabelle went to sit at the table, when she gasped in realization.

"Scarecrow's out there!" She exclaimed. Her chair groaned as she thrust it back, running out the back door before her mother's shout could form words. Uncaring of the rain and the wet corn, Isabelle sprinted to the center of the field to where their scarecrow stood crucified and jumped up, undoing the ties holding him there, then running with him under her arm inside.

The next thing Sally heard and saw was Isabelle dragging the limp scarecrow in from the back door next to her, like some savior or hero, the straw filled clothes wet and limp, and Isabelle standing there chest heaving, hair wet and stuck to her white face, feet apart like she'd saved him from a flood.

Sally broke the silence and chuckled at the sight.

"The scarecrow's her friend," She said to herself, grinning, shaking her head and turning back to the pot. "Do you want to put your friend on the seat and then we can have dinner? Just shut the door, babe."

Isabelle glared furiously at her mother's back.

"_No_." She spat about her suggestion, like it was the most absurd idea she'd ever heard. "I'll just put him down over here," She lay the scarecrow against the steps of the stairs in an awkward position like she didn't care how he laid, then came to dinner and sat down curtly and obediently like nothing had happened.

Sally turned around and noticed where the scarecrow was but smiled, before dishing up for her daughter then herself. They both put their hands together while seated at the table and said thank you for their meal, before they dug in.

Sally eyed the still scarecrow and smiled to herself.

"Are you sure you don't want to give your friend a helping?"

"Yes, momma. I'm sure. He doesn't eat." She said.

"Oh, okay." agreed her mother, still smiling to herself at how cute it was. "Chin up. Napkin on yer lap."


	9. Chapter 9

The insurance man was fat and dressed in a black pin striped suit as he walked up the three front steps to the Dale's household. Isabelle could see him from her window. He knocked twice.

"Isabelle, would you mind going to play outside for a little while?" Her mother called up the stairs. Isabelle obediently came downstairs, picked up her scarecrow, then left out the backdoor.

It was the next day from when it rained and Isabelle trudged through the cornfield with both arms around her scarecrow, trudging to the center of the field where the pole stood. Forlornly and reluctantly, she tied him back up, knowing that he had to be there to scare the crows otherwise they'll eat their corn and then they won't have such good crops to eat and to sell. And her mother would be mad.

She roped the scarecrow to the two sticks, one horizontal for his arms and the other a pole for his back and to stand him high. She heard the crows cry above.

Because she didn't know how long the man would be there, Isabelle turned and looked back to look at her house, but she could see them both still through the window. So she turned around and decided to go exploring. The seven year old disappeared into the corn stalks.

She walked around for half an hour and it was mostly boring. The half an hour felt like an eternity. But she didn't want to go back to the house with the man in there still, while they were still conversing.

Isabelle had been walking for a while and stopped, ready to go back. But then she realized, as she turned around, that she hadn't been so deep in the cornfields before, and she didn't know where she was. She tried looking for the scarecrow to be her marker, but she really must have wandered far because he wasn't around. Maybe she hadn't tied him high enough? But she wasn't as tall as an adult, and the stalks were high above her head. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

The crows cawed overhead, circling. The sky was becoming overcast. It would be midday soon. Maybe her mother would come out and find her. Isabelle decided just to sit where she was, getting her blue dress dirty. After a while, it got boring and she sighed, putting her cheeks in her hands, her elbows in her lap.

She heard rustling. Isabelle jumped up out of fright. Her heart began racing in her chest.

"Hello! Who are you? Come out of there!" She smacked some corn stalks aside, not harmfully, but to create a sudden noise in case it was an animal and would scare it away, or if it was a person it would make her seem angry and more menacing. "Come out!" She demanded angrily after it rustled again.

"Isabelle!" She heard faintly behind her. Her mother. "Isabelle!"

She didn't want to turn her back on the thing, just in case it jumped out at her, but she made a mad dash for the corn stalks in the direction of her mother's voice. She hopped, jumped, and slashed through the corn stalks. Sally could see the path her little girl was running her way and chuckled at the back door with her hands on her hips as Isabelle broke out into the open.

"What are you doing, you little monkey?" asked her mother with a cheeky grin.

Isabelle was panting gently and looking at her mother.

"I thought I was a gonner."

Sally laughed and beckoned Isabelle inside, who obeyed.

"Who was that, momma?"

"Just a nice man, 'belle. He thought we had money but we've nothing to give him."


	10. Chapter 10

The insurance man came back again not a week later. Sally was annoyed this time around. The first time she had been courteous, he obviously hadn't known that she hadn't gotten any life insurance from her husband's death because he was 39 and was as healthy as a horse and never paid life insurance in his life. The insurance man obviously thought different, because he was back again.

"If you would be so kind as to leave, sir," Sally said in a thickened accent due to her rising tension. "I don't have a cent from his insurance, and I already pay insurance for ma own life."

"How about your washer? Are they not uninsured?" said his posh, private school boy accent with a greedy smile.

"Ah told you, I don't have any money ta give you. Now leave!" The man eventually did leave, but not without a promising glint in his eye as he got into his shiny black car.

* * *

Miranda, her baby sitter, had left town to go to college in Gotham and it was Isabelle's first night alone. Sally had to take a trip out of town for business, but she had cooked her food and refrigerated it, left her the emergency numbers and went over fire hazards. She fed the animals before she left too. She'd taken their dog with her so she could get a check up from the vet, otherwise she'd have to make a special trip when she was due anyway.

But being alone in the house scared Isabelle. It was the first time she had slept alone. It was a onetime occurrence, her mother had said, because Miranda had left a week early in hope to avoid the winter rush and the weather making it harder to travel, more flight delays, and also more unpleasant. Also in Gotham the trains and transport system would also be more up to par earlier, the winter not having frozen pipes or windows or machines. She didn't want to arrive late for work over something so menial, so she left early to make doubly sure so she could make a good first impression. Sally hadn't known, or she would've scheduled the meeting to a later or earlier day.

Isabelle sat curled up on the teal green couch, the only couch they had, watching television. It was mindless and about a cartoon rabbit who was eternally after something, or something. She couldn't concentrate because she noticed all the sounds of the house more. The wind that whistled by the house, and she was afraid it would blow the house down and she'd have nowhere to sleep for the night, the odd creaking noises in the house, the hooting of an owl outside. Isabelle got up and closed the curtains when it got dark to avoid seeing the scarecrow poking out of the cornfield and staring her way.

Isabelle pulled the dangling chain of the lamp and it lit the room in golden light before she took a seat back on the couch, pulling a book onto her lap that she'd gotten from the library – an encyclopedia on insects. When that wasn't too much fun, she picked up another book she'd decided to try, an encyclopedia on Ancient Rome, and another on Ancient Egypt. She was enraptured by the contents until she looked up and saw on the round clock on the wall it was nine thirty. Thank goodness it was Saturday. She was late for bed.

Isabelle got up and turned the lights off, which her mother had reminded her to do and she didn't want to forget and waste electricity, and then her mother would have to pay for it. But when the whole of downstairs was dark she ran up the stairs quickly and slammed her door, turning her light on with a slap to the wall. She calmed down when she saw her familiar room. She then realized she left all her books downstairs but didn't want to go and get them. And the bathroom was all the way down the hall, in the dark, the scary dark, and she'd have to walk all the way there in the dark, alone.

Isabelle walked to her bed and sat, pulling her unicorn out. The one she'd originally hidden to try and grow up, but she couldn't get rid of it. She pulled it out and looked at its face. Its smiling face looked up at her. She stroked its white mane and put it on her bed.

She stood and let out a breath, trying to calm her racing heart. She was seven now. She shouldn't be afraid of the dark. She was practically an adult already, in her head. Adults weren't afraid of the dark.

Before Isabelle could talk herself out of it she banged her door open and ran out like a bat out of hell and ran with the noise of an elephant, which only scared her more, to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. She listened quietly for anything moving in the house, but heard nothing. She looked at herself in the mirror. Even she felt alien to herself without her mother there. She took out the toothpaste, wet it and brushed her teeth.

She was calmer now when she walked back to her room. She walked into her room and shut the curtains that beheld a black night outside and dark cornfield. She'd heard news stories about UFO's arriving and taking cattle, but thankfully they didn't have cattle. But they had a cornfield and she was always scared if she left her curtains open it would happen and then they would see her, and take her instead. Thank goodness for her lavender curtains.

Isabelle crawled into bed after turning off the lights, diving into her pillow with her unicorn and hoping that she would fall asleep quickly.

* * *

"She's got such good land," Sally said in the car, pulling down her sunshade for her eyes above the steering wheel. "It's such a shame she's letting it go to waste,"

Once again Ms. Crane had declined paying Sally for her business services. So once more Sally retracted her services. There was nothing to say about it, Sally only shook her head.

"I mean she has that chapel, if she fixed it up she could really turn it into something nice. Maybe she could let the parishioner rent it every Sunday, she'd get some real money then. And the cornfields? We do that don't we, pumpkin? Corn prices are good at the moment,"

* * *

Sally saw Jonathan at school, and she went over to talk to him simply in the spur of the moment.

"Hi, Jonathan," She said. He looked up from the cafeteria table he was at, books around his tray that he was trying to eat something yellow from. "How are you?"

Jonathan smiled.

"Ah, Isabelle. Long time no see?"

"Yes." She chuckled, holding a book, which he noticed.

"Ancient Egypt? I did not know that was an interest of yours,"

"Oh, neither did I, until I read it."

This was the most delightful conversation Isabelle had had – ever.

He looked like he was mulling something over, then made a decision.

"I don't suppose you would want to sit?"

"Oh, yes please," She sat down on the bench opposite him, taking out her packed lunch. She hadn't planned to sit here for lunch, it kind of just, happened. She pulled out a jam sandwich.

"How is it… for you, in this new grade?" She asked.

He looked up to her from his book and chuckled.

"It's been over a year and you're asking, Isabelle? Well, it is quite easy."

She nodded. She didn't think so, she spent all her time studying, but she nodded to take in his words.

"I'm just doing extra studying."

She sat up curiously.

"Oh."

"Yes."

Conversation went stale after that.

Then he looked up and smirked at her.

"I see you're wearing your hair differently now. A braid."

She looked up at him shyly. No one ever commented on her state of dress or hair except if it was to tease her. Or, from her mother, to compliment her. She'd just been trying it out, wearing her hair in a different way.

She nervously pulled the braid over her shoulder, smoothing it down.

"Yes."

Jonathan noticed how she suddenly went self-conscious, and looked her over. He didn't see why such a pretty girl would be self-conscious about her looks. Did he make her nervous? Did he make her _afraid_?

"I see you have glasses now."

He touched his glasses, adjusting them.

"Yes, quite."


	11. Chapter 11

The creature entered her window and came to her bed.

It leaned over her, breathing heavily.

The creature came closer, and unbraided her hair. Smoothing it down until it was flat and wavy, just like when it'd met her. Jonathan had met her.

The creature crooned into her hair after it took regular seating behind her. Its arm possessive.

* * *

Sally was taking her daughter home after school, the little girl seated in the front, when she sighed as she turned into the driveway.

"What is _he _doing here?"

They rolled up to the front of the house. Sally unbuckled her seatbelt.

"Stay in the car, baby."

The door slammed.

Isabelle watched her mother walk to the black, shiny BMW with a thin man standing to the side of it. They had a conversation that by the looks of it was tense and coiled, like a rattlesnake giving a warning from both parties.

There was a suspenseful, tense moment, before the two men got back in the BMW and then passed the Chevy on their way out.

"Who was that?"

"Never you mind, baby. Just some bank people. I told them to go away."

"I hope so, momma."


	12. Chapter 12

Isabelle and Jonathan now sat at lunch together every day. They discovered an affinity with each other – their avid interest in similar subjects - with some differences - their outcasting from their peers, and their general personalities were similar. Both were quiet, studious, and internally full of thoughts and questions, which they shared with one another. It gave both Jonathan and Isabelle great pleasure, and also comfort, to lose themselves for an hour a day in just conversing with a like mind. Then they had to go to their dreary classes, where the material was stimulating but not the environment or the people, and go home where they were both alone.

Neither had spoken about their feelings of being alone until one day it just sort of slipped out of her mouth, then it slipped out of his, and they gradually revealed more and more to one another until they were comfortable sharing feelings. Jonathan was the only one that Isabelle could talk to about her feelings neutrally without expecting a huge dramatic response – he only ever gave her well thought out answers after hearing all the information. She didn't speak about her feelings often, but to Jonathan she would, if he asked for it on a subject. He usually asked for her thoughts, however. And she, for his.

Jonathan would talk most avidly about the mind. And fear. But he kept fear to a minimum around her. He spoke about Freud, and psychology, and for the first time Isabelle found an interest in a contemporary subject. One that didn't have to do with Ancient Rome or the Vikings and Saxons or the medieval times, but something like psychology. Sometimes their lunches would consist only of him talking about the mind, and different theories different people have on its workings, and she would sit, and eat, and listen, without pause, without interruption, except to ask for a clarifying question. He was so delighted to have someone to share his mind with, his interest with. He was just so darn chuffed about it.

He went home and talked to Scarecrow all about it. In fact, he talked to Scarecrow all the time, but when he got home, when he wasn't doing laborious chores his grandmother set out, when he wasn't doing homework and when his grandmother hadn't locked up him in the chapel, he would sit in the chapel and talk to Scarecrow. He'd set out time to talk to him, about everything. Recently Isabelle was a large topic of conversation, second only to his thoughts and feelings. And Scarecrow listened. Jonathan saw everything – people's fears, their insecurities, what made them tick and what could make them break. But the ten year old boy remained forever unaware of how he watched her. He was blind to how utterly fascinated with Isabelle Dale he was, in more ways than one.

* * *

High school was dreary, tumultuous, and a roller coaster ride of emotion and hormones. However, there was an upside to it for Isabelle Dale, new people.

New people meant she could start afresh, make a new impression. She could try on different personalities and different clothes, ways of speaking, and not have anyone bat an eye because they remembered what she was like as a child. It was perfect.

Not that Isabelle strayed too far from her accent and way of dressing like a doll. Her accent had always been lukewarm living in a town of people that also spoke with not a too thick accent like her mother. She sometimes wore jeans instead of dresses, because the staring made her self conscious now when it hadn't before. Boys stared at her differently than they used to – with more interest. And it was every boy, often. It was daunting. She was so used to not being looked at, that now they were giving her attention it made her want to bolt and melt into the wall.

Jonathan remained the same, however. Classes were now of a higher mental level, but Isabelle adapted well. She'd expected high school to be harder. Honestly, she found her earlier school years much more difficult in terms of work. As Jonathan had jested when they were trying to complete her math homework, she found the hard stuff easy and the easy stuff hard.

Isabelle was glad for that, because everything else in life got harder for her while the work level increased but turned easy.

Jonathan and Isabelle stuck together at lunchtimes. They quickly became the odd-balls of the school, mainly because the both of them contradicted their peers and even corrected them when they were wrong. Isabelle did this to the same degree as Jonathan at first, but then Isabelle found it easier to hide it when she saw she was making life difficult for herself. Jonathan however, did not.

She stared wearing bras and deodorant and helped out more on the farm now that she was older and stronger and her mother's business was branching out more, it meant her mother had to be away more.

The bullies didn't stop with Jonathan, not only because of his thin, gangly appearance and his old shores and raggedy clothes, but because he also contradicted people. It made him very unpopular, but he did not change his opinion on anything.

They left Isabelle alone because after the first year of high school, she was an unknown. No one knew her. She did not socialize with anyone, except Jonathan at lunch times, and nobody saw her around because she didn't do sports and she generally took routes to avoid people in the hallways. Being alone was fine for her, and it was by choice. She chose Jonathan's company at lunch because he could keep her mentally stimulated, and his presence was tolerable. He didn't speak up. Jonathan wasn't exactly popular either, so he didn't go blabbing about her existence to everyone. So, she was generally unknown. Not bullied, not popular. Content to be unknown. She'd gone into the bathroom one day and was washing her hands when someone from her class asked her if she was new. She'd said, no, I've been here the whole year. They were put off and returned to re-touching their mascara and eye-liners.


	13. Chapter 13

The nightly visits from the presence dwindled in number as she got into high school, and Isabelle guessed it really was a dream she had every night after all. Now that she was older, she guessed she stopped dreaming about it. It didn't matter too much to her, she just missed the dreams, and when she fell asleep at night she asked the faceless deities above to feel it again – because it was comforting, even if she was asleep and unaware. It was nice to have another presence in her bed at night to lay against. When it was gone she felt like something was missing. It gave her a sense of belonging that sometimes when she couldn't spend her lunches talking to Jonathan, it filled. Like if he was sick, or spending extra time in a class.

Isabelle and Jonathan distanced a little whenever their workload increased, due to finals and exams. But they were both brought back together by their similarity. Their mutual dislike for school dances, parties, drinking, and other teenage behavior. Even though Isabelle was disdainful of company sometimes, she knew she would never find that again in another person – ever. One could hope, but the odds were low. Still, she saw Jonathan as a friend.

"Isabelle," she heard behind her as she exited a class. She turned around and saw a boy in her music group jog up to her, by the name of Marcus. She turned her head to him but kept walking for her next class. She didn't have a bad opinion of him – she just needed to get to class.

"Hey, so, how'd you think that music composition went?" He asked, hands in his jeans.

"Fine," She said coolly, as she always did. She put her book in her shoulder bag. "Dean needs to brush up, though."

"Yeah," He chuckled, to her over nothing, and grinned her way. "But we'll all pull through."

"I suppose."

They were about to turn a corner when he turned and stopped.

"So, uh, homecoming's coming up, and uh… I was wondering if you were going with anyone?"

"No." She answered deadpanly.

He licked his lips and shuffled.

"Well I was wondering…if maybe…"

She cocked her head.

"Best be out with it. I have places to be."

"You'd like to go to the dance with me?"

"I don't go to dances."

"Oh." He seemed disappointed. "Oh, okay. How come?" He rubbed the back of his neck.

She raised her eyebrows at the question. Most boys didn't bother knowing.

"It's boring and senseless. I become bored out of my skull, even if I have a date."

"Well did you try it?"

"Yes, I tried it once. I left after twenty minutes. Now, good day." She glided past him and went to class.

* * *

It'd been a salesman. A traveling salesman. He and her mother met and, she liked him. They had one night together, a few days together, and then he moved on. She didn't expect to be pregnant, but when she read the little stick she knew she was going to keep the baby.

* * *

Isabelle and Jonathan were walking home together. They both lived in the same general direction, although she walked longer than he did from the high school. She wore a long white summer dress, where her female peers were wearing short shorts and low cut, revealing tops. It brought her attention from both boys and girls, flattering attention from the former and jealousy from the latter. For what reason, Isabelle did not know. They could easily buy the same clothes she wore, then the problem would be solved. It was one of the many things, that since she couldn't fix it, itched her.

They made idle chatter as they walked.

"Did you get that assignment in that you had trouble with?" She asked.

"Yes. Once I wrapped my brain around it, it was a piece of cake. Ms. Donnermyer was very happy with it."

They kept walking under the harsh sun.

"Something's bothering you."

"He's not my real dad."

He looked at her.

"Who?"

"My dad. I always knew something was wrong. My mom had been speaking to someone, said he'd died nine years ago, but I was seven at the time. He's not my real dad."

"Oh."

He knew nothing of parents. He'd never had any.

He didn't want to insult her by prying, or give her pity, which he knew she would stop talking to him for. She'd named instances which she had stopped talking to people for false pity, or an over display over emotions. He sincerely cared for her, and wanted to tell her those words that people said everyday to tragedies but he sincerely meant them. He didn't want to risk it.

"I'm sorry." He was sincere, even if he couldn't change what was.

She looked out into the yellow and green cornfields.


	14. Chapter 14

I give a bow of thanks to my reviewers, alerters and favoriters.

* * *

Scarecrow jumped over a fence and landed on soil before he trudged through a corn field. It'd been harder and harder to make his nightly visits since they'd moved, but he managed to make it work. When Jonathan fell asleep, Scarecrow took control. He'd raise his head from where Jonathan had left it on open books at his desk, and he'd make it out into the night.

The new house made it easier for his climb, his ascension aided by the terrace that lined the wall, giving him easy footing and holding. Landing like a cat inside her room, he took notice of everything. It had been moved and changed and several things disappeared or were new over the years, but what remained unchanged was that girl laying in bed. He stepped over to the other side of the bed than he normally did, just so he could see her face. He bent down and picked up a white unicorn with a quiet sigh, more like a ghostly whisper, and placed the unicorn in her arms. He pulled back to his full height and stared at her. For a long while.

Scarecrow got in bed behind her, which was usual. At first he'd slept _on _the covers, but as time went on, dare he say it, it was like she'd accepted him and he slept underneath the covers from there on out. As his arm slipped around her waist he realized with widening eyes that her hips were fuller than they had been before. Was it really that long since he'd been back? Johnny had been on the medication again. To make him go away.

To separate him from Isabelle.

Arm clenching, the teenage girl was brought to his chest and she made a 'murr' in her sleep before stilling.

That's it, he thought.

"Don't worry, precious," He pressed a kiss to her hair. "I'll keep workin' on him. I'll keep at 'im. Don't you worry."

* * *

Whenever Johnny got too high a workload, he forgot to take his medicine. He'd wake, back in his room, and let out a sigh of relief that he hadn't gone wandering in the night. Although, sometimes, whenever he forgot to take his medicine, he'd smell different, and the beast in the back of his mind, the one he wouldn't acknowledge, would be sated, purring. For a while, he wouldn't give him grief.

And then Jonathan would not take his medicine. And then Scarecrow would be back again, in the back of his mind, cackling, gleeful, thinking his thoughts and commenting on them joyfully, until Jonathan would take his medication again, and there would be peace.


	15. Chapter 15

Something was brewing at school. Isabelle could sense it in the back of her mind. It wasn't the finals, no, nor was it the buzz of the upcoming dance, no, it was too big for that. The jocks eyed her as they passed Jonathan and her at lunchtime. They always sat in the same spot, out by the music building where no one else sat. It was just them, and the occasional student or teacher that passed by when they went to get their lunch, and then come back.

Sherri Squires and her posse had been eyeing her lately, too. She knew something was going to happen. It was their third year now in high school. Jonathan and Isabelle had changed a lot, yet not a lot at all.

People had started to think they were together, with the frequency that the two were seen together at lunchtimes and with no one else. It was apocryphal, but most people thought it was cute although it was untrue. It was partly because of how people were taking notice of who Jonathan's girlfriend was, since everybody knew Jonathan, and Isabelle's quiet mannerisms, seriousness, and somber answers in class that she was slowly gaining unwanted attention also.

Isabelle had started to be teased again, by girls, who wanted to see her reactions to things. She ignored them. For some reason, she gained some popularity among the people who didn't like Sherri Squires and her gang, and they tried to tag along with her and be friends. Isabelle felt exasperated over the whole thing – she wasn't interested in anything teenager-y, including the nonsense of gossip, popularity and fads.

"Make them go away, Jonathan," She sighed into her hands one lunchtime when someone had found out where they sat and then wanted to join them. It took about five minutes for Isabelle to get them to go away.

He chuckled.

"Want me for yourself?"

She looked at him sharply. It wasn't often he teased her. She blinked and when she saw he was joking relaxed.

"No, I just… I only find your presence tolerable. No one else's."

The conversation's tone changed, as it usually did when she spoke because she always spoke of serious things and never anything trivial, and Jonathan was quiet for a moment. She thought she'd scared him away for a second before he said,

"And I you. I feel the same way."

She nodded uncomfortably, feeling suffocated, but sat through the feeling because she knew getting up and leaving would only damage their relationship in the long run and she didn't want that. It didn't used to matter if she left and they had some distance, but at some point things changed and it mattered now.

* * *

Isabelle had applied to different colleges in Gotham, and applied at Wayne Enterprises for an entry level position so she could work. So far she had not heard back from them, and it was daunting, the gap of her future.

* * *

Isabelle was staying late at the school, checking to see if she had a response from the colleges. Nothing yet. She closed down the computer, picking up her books and left the computer room.

As soon as she left the school, the afternoon sun about to set early since it was winter, she saw a group of the jocks milling about. When they saw her they stared at her. She ignored them and passed by them, feeling their stare until she turned the corner.


	16. Chapter 16

"Be quiet."

_**Jus' sayin', Johnny.**_

"Be _quiet._"

Jonathan rubbed his forehead. His friend and mentor was back – only Scarecrow was just slowly becoming more and more a part of him than an outside entity. The medications worked – when he took them, that is.

When he didn't, he was plagued all day with thoughts in his head from his 'other'. He was only ever quiet – strangely quiet – when he would be at lunch, talking to Isabelle. If not talking, then just eating. Lunch was usually quiet. It was the only time of peace in Jonathan's head during the day when he forgot his medication. Sometimes he thought his hand deliberately misplaced it, if he left it too long and Scarecrow got too strong. If Scarecrow could control his body, then he worried what else it would do.

* * *

Jonathan watched Sherri Squires. He was sweating at the temple, pale, and wringing his hands together. When she got out of class he asked her out.

She let out peals of laughter, throwing back a lock of bleach blonde hair out of her face.

"With you? Never," She purred, then tittered and laughed, her boyfriend Marcus coming over and throwing his arm around her shoulder. They laughed about it all the way until they left.

* * *

"That was cruel of them," She offered him a tissue. He would have seen it as pity, but she was factual about it with a touch of kindness, so he just took it and blew his nose.

She scooched closer and rubbed his back. He was struck with a strange thought that they hadn't touched in so long. Never, really.

She offered no words, simply rubbing his back. A simple pleasure he'd never had before. It felt really quite nice. Once he wasn't upset anymore, he felt lulled in comfort and the warmth of her hand rubbing in circles in his back.

"Thank you." He said, suddenly straightening and fixing his appearance. She pulled her hand away because he looked like he suddenly wanted to take care of himself all over again.

"It's okay." She looked at her hands and wrung the fingers together thoughtfully. He wiped his face and when he put his hands down she took one of his in her own, looking at him with kind eyes.

"It's okay, Jonathan." She soothed, her other hand rubbing the back of his hand. He allowed her to comfort him, glad there was no one around to see.

He'd never been comforted before, by anyone except Scarecrow, and then even it hadn't been physical. One couldn't get any comfort from a burlap sack, nor could it hug you or stroke you or soothe you. But now that he had it, it felt… strange. But pleasant, sort of. He didn't really know what to feel about it.

"I'm sorry the one you wanted didn't want you back," She empathized. "It really must be horrible to be rejected like that. They weren't being kind about it either," She said gently, tracing circles on his hand with her thumb, his hand resting on her lap. He suddenly looked up at her sharply.

Isabelle often forgot that she was in a teenage girl's body – she just did. So when Jonathan looked up at her like that and he had the same look in his eyes as the boys that liked her, it was a snap back to reality, making her remember and she pulled away an inch. He seemed to lose that look in his eye, averting them quickly and he laughed. She probably thought him repulsive.

"Am I repulsive, Isabelle?" He inched his glasses up his nose.

She frowned at the sudden question, still staring at him.

"No, I've never thought that. Ever."

He hummed. His new Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed.

Isabelle thought out loud, without even thinking to stop herself,

"It was a marvel of my childhood to always hear the girl's teasing you, saying you were ugly, but when I looked at you I couldn't find anything out of place or unsightly."

He looked at her, and she still didn't have one thought of ugliness even as his eyes were red and his pride had been hurt from the whole incident with Sherri.

He read her eyes with his own piercing blue ones, and detected only honesty. No lies ever came from Isabelle's lips - she was too serious to lie. She didn't even make jokes, so she wouldn't lie. But he could detect it in her eyes, the honesty. It was honesty he valued the most.

"Thank you, Isabelle."

* * *

The car swerved and hit a tree.

"Woohoo!" A boy stumbled from the car, unharmed. "What a ride!"

His drunk girlfriend, Sherri, hiccupped as she fell from the car.

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

"Hey…" said Sherri as she stumbled up, but fell. "Is that the school? Wh- the lights are on!"

The boy leaned against the car's hood. "Prob'ly nerds… doin' math club," He burped.

"Le's go check it out!" For some reason that was insanely funny and the two laughed like hyenas at it.

* * *

Isabelle was working late again in the school library. She had only meant to be just an hour, but the librarian had let her keep it open a little longer, and she'd become immersed in her work. She finally finished, checked her emails, felt forlorn when there was no update on the colleges, signed off and gathered up her things.

She walked out into the quad, and that's where she met trouble.


	17. Chapter 17

Jonathan sighed. He'd stayed late again to finish up his chemistry homework. He'd gone to the vending machine when he heard a shriek, and laughter.

He turned and saw Isabelle being manhandled by a jock, trying to fight him off while he laughed.

She kicked at him but when that didn't work, stomped on his instep. The boy roared in pain and hopped on one foot, letting go of her. She was about to run, but thought better of it and slammed him around the face with her bookbag, which contained some textbooks. It pulled a muscle in her shoulder but she was so glad for the pain he seemed to be in.

"Isabelle!" She heard and turned, seeing Jonathan running over. She ran forward and took his shoulder, sharing a look. In sync they both ran towards the exit and they left the school.

* * *

The jock, as well as his group of friends and Sherri Squires were all suspended. Sherri's father was on the school board and pulled some strings to stop her and her boyfriend from being expelled, since they were in more trouble than the others. The others had been conspirators, but not offenders. But the fact they had participated led them to being suspended for a week each. Sherri and her boyfriend were suspended for three weeks – the best the father could do.

* * *

Isabelle had been heartbroken when she'd found out her dad, her only hero, the man who had once wrestled a bull and saved a town from dehydration in the middle of a heatwave, was not her father. It'd been a traveling salesman. A blouse man.

Her mother had tried to console her – saying she'd always wanted a child, and God just hadn't blessed her while she was married.

But it had damaged Isabelle's self perception. How was she going to look at herself now knowing she'd come from a blouse man's genes? Sure, her mother was strong, but before she had something to match and look up to in a father, even though he had passed. Now, the expectations of her were far lower, and Isabelle just didn't have the desire or the drive to succeed anymore. She felt lethargic and unmotivated to do anything anymore.

* * *

The fat insurance man kept coming around over the years, trying to squeeze more and more money out of her mother. He wanted more ways to sell her insurance, and it was not only the calls from his company to switch her to them, but he kept coming back. He was under the impression that she has a lot of money she's sitting on from her husband's life insurance, which was not true. Isabelle was actually scared of the fat insurance man, she just wanted him to go away.

One day, her mother wasn't home, and his black, gleaming BMV rolled up to the front of their house, passing the 'no soliciting' sign. Isabelle saw him from the kitchen window from an angle that he couldn't see.

He got out, buttoning the front of his blazer that only made him look like an overstuffed turkey. He'd gotten fatter.

He pulled on his black fedora hat and cheerfully made his way to the steps only for the door to bust open and a teenage girl in cowgirl boots stood there with a double barrel gun pointed at him.

"Ge' off ma property." She said warningly, her voice having more volume than its normal coolness. Her accent thickened in her protectiveness of both her mother and her house, and their money.

"Now, now," placated the man with outstretched, pale, sweaty hands. "I just wanted to talk with your mother,"

The man squealed as a shot hit the ground near his feet. He leapt back a bit.

"Now, now, little girl, your mother wants to see me,"

"She don' wanna see the likes o' you." Her heavy footsteps rang as she walked down the steps, her arms feeling weak but her face hard hoping not to show it. She was so glad she was not shaking. The man's back touched the car and he whimpered in surprise. "Now ge' off ma land."

"Righto. Ah – of course. So sorry to disturb you," He said with his posh, private school boy accent and opened the car door quickly, jumping in and the car backing up and swerving away almost drunkenly.

Isabelle lowered the gun. Wow. She couldn't believe she'd actually done that. It was accepted around here to defend your land with a gun, so no eyebrows would be raised and it wasn't against the law. But… it was just a proud moment for Isabelle, to know that she could defend herself and her land if she had to. She hadn't even planned for this to happen – it just did. After the incident with that jock, her tolerance for being pushed around had shortened.

* * *

When they had run far enough and they were in the middle of nowhere, on the road to home but there was no civilization forward or back, not their school, not their homes, both Jonathan and Isabelle stopped and panted for breath, doubling over and letting their bags and books fall to the floor.

"Jeez, 'belle," He called her that only because of his shortened breath, but she looked at him because he'd never called her that before. "What happened?"

She slowly sank down to the floor on the side of the road, cornfields peaceful behind them. He wearily sat next to her and looked at her for an explanation.

"I just came out of the library and they were there. He grabbed me."

Jonathan's breath stopped for a moment.

"He grabbed you?"

Her knees were pulled up and she pushed her dress down so no one would see her underwear before she replied, it all feeling so surreal to her yet the heart hammering in her chest and the stone in her stomach told her it really had happened,

"He grabbed me."

"Jesus, 'belle." He leaned forward, his hands limp on the grass between his long, stretched out legs. "Good thing I was nearby."

She sighed.

"What are you gonna do?" He asked. She had to tell the school. She had to. But she had to come to that decision by herself.

"I'll tell the school tomorrow. Get ma momma to ring in sick for me afterwards."

She was going to take a day off?

Isabelle wanted to stand, but her legs felt wobbly and her muscles hurt from all the running. She only ever did work around the farm, not sports, so she just sat and smoothed down her dress to wipe her sweaty hands from the previous adrenaline rush pumping through her system.

A cool breeze passed, cooling Jonathan's slightly wet hairline. He tiredly sat forward a little more, then leaned back on his hands, just panting. She'd stopped panting, her face feeling hot from her exercise, and just stared forward, planning.

"You'll take the day off?"

"Yes. After I get this in to the principal."

He nodded.

"Alright."

They picked up their things slowly and walked home closer together than before.

"Jonathan? I'm glad you were there."

"Me too."


	18. Chapter 18

Jonathan had come down to see her on her day off, wanting to make sure she was okay. He saw a very shiny black BMW pass him and because it was out of place with the rustic country, he looked at it. A fat man in the front seat in a pale sweat looked back at him. He passed a sign that said 'no soliciting' and walked the road to the front of their house. Before he could get there however the lightly squeaking door banged open and Isabelle ran out with a large grin on her face.

"The fat man! I chased the fat man away, Jonathan! Did you see?!" She giggled and glomped him hard, before pulling away. He was so surprised at seeing her smile so wide that he was starstruck. "I got the gun out and chased him away! I've never done that before! I'm so proud of myself!"

He smiled a little dizzily. "That's excellent, Isabelle."

She smiled, and calmed, but still smiled.

"Yes. What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to come check on you."

"And you walked? All the way from your house?" She seemed surprised he'd done that. Wasn't his grandmother a control freak about his time?

He gave her a smile of his own.

"Well I had to come see you after yesterday, didn't I?"

She turned somber at his word choice, then invited him in. The fly gate banged on the frame twice after he closed it behind him.

* * *

Isabelle offered him something to drink as he took a seat at the small round table in the kitchen where there were four chairs and doilies as place mats on each one of them.

He didn't want anything and she sat down at the table, he noticing how girly she was barefoot and in a dress, her long hair down for once.

"Oh, Jonathan! You came to check on my sweet daughter? How nice to see you again!" said Sally as she barged in the front door from just arriving home.

"Ms. Dale, a pleasure." Jonathan smiled from where he was, standing and going to take Ms. Dale's suntanned hand. He bent and kissed it. Isabelle smiled from where she was at the table as her mother took off her cowgirl hat and fanned herself with it.

"Why, you charmer! Sit down. Isabelle, did you offer this nice young man a drink?"

"Yes, momma."

"And food?"

"Yes, momma." She replied obediently. Her mother's footsteps were naturally heavy so that they echoed in the kitchen as she went to get a drink of water.

"Goo' girl."

Isabelle smiled over at Jonathan, who smiled back. God she was beautiful when she smiled, he thought. She didn't smile nearly as often as she should.

Isabelle wanted to take him to her room to talk without her mother listening in, but it was still purple and probably too girly for him to be in, and the proper thing to do was to invite him to the living room, so she asked him to follow her.

"What a nice young man," Sally sighed.

* * *

He had to get going when it was still light so he could make it home before dark, so his grandmother wouldn't get angry. She stood at the door and bid him farewell. He smiled at her before he left. When she walked back inside her mother was giving her 'the eyes' and told her to sit down. She then gave her the talk.

Isabelle wasn't as horrified as she would have been, because she'd been in high school for three years now and the internet was abundant – she'd researched it on her own out of curiosity. But the fact that her mother saw Jonathan as someone she could potentially be with made her blush and laugh.

"We're just friends, momma."

"Mmhm," hummed her mother 'agreeably', pulling up her jeans and then putting one boot over the other on the low rise table outside, her mother lighting a pipe while rocking on the rocking chair. "That's what they all say."


	19. Chapter 19

Jonathan felt elated on his way home. He finally had a positive relationship with somebody – especially a pretty girl such as Isabelle. She accepted him, she was kind, funny, intelligent, confident. All the things he admired.

But simultaneously, on the way home, Scarecrow was buzzing in his ear more than normal.

Whispering things, saying things, putting pictures in Jonathan's head. It got to a crescendo just as Jonathan got home to his grandmother's house – mercifully, on time.

_Stop it. _Jonathan thought to his other. _Stop it, or I'll take the medication. You can't do that._

**_Oh yeeess you can, Johnny. It would be so simple. So easy._**

_I can't. I won't._

Scarecrow cackled in the back of his mind and disappeared for a while.

"Jonathan!" His grandmother. He sighed and went to see what new menial labor she had for him.

It had never been much since she'd started getting that lawn care service – not that she cared much for the lawn. But she'd said she wanted to look out on the lawn God gave her and need him to be at least proud of it. She'd stop having the lawn done for a week every now and then just to 'teach Jonathan a lesson' with the hard work. Then she'd lock him up in the chapel, and then he'd run into the comfort of the Scarecrow's arms, each time embracing him tighter, and tighter.

* * *

When Sherri got back to school, Jonathan's heart had hardened towards her. But his rage was directed at all of them.

* * *

They avoided Jonathan and Isabelle after the whole incident, mercifully in both of their opinions.

Senior year came fast around the corner for both Jonathan and Isabelle, and they both worked hard for scholarships and their coursework. Jonathan was outstanding in his chemistry classes and took a psychology course. Isabelle was doing excellently in her English and Art classes, taking psychology also for an elective.

Jonathan really stood out in that class, having known all the basic material already. He dropped the course after taking the official exam for the course - a college course - early. It was half way through the first semester that he surprised Isabelle - he'd gotten accepted into Gotham University and they were ready to take him by the end of December. She didn't know how to feel, he was going either way no matter what she thought or felt. You didn't just reject an offer like that. She was so impressed for him, however. He was very young and they offered him a place among their students, and for his grades they gave him scholarships as long as he would keep it up. He'd taken the exams for all his other college classes early and got the highest marks, so they'd accepted him greedily before he could go anywhere else. It was his first choice. Gotham had good prices for tuition because the city it was in had such a high crime rate. It had a division in the student population. The dropouts, either from not having enough money, or for other reasons. And the fine students. If you were a fine student and did well, there were companies like Wayne Enterprises to work for - very rich companies that could give benefits and good salaries that you couldn't get in a small town like the one they were in. Jonathan was eager to move away, and so was Isabelle. Jonathan was just doing it ahead of his schedule. But it worked out for him in the end. Isabelle had been thrilled for him, and said goodbye to him by December, where he left to go to the same place as Miranda had years before.

Isabelle, on the other hand, was not so sure on where she was going. She'd gotten accepted into other Universities, and by December she found she'd been accepted by Gotham University also for next year, but she did not feel elation like Jonathan had. After she found out who her dad really was, she'd lost her drive. She'd lost her sense of purpose. She decided she was going to wait a while before studying. She had originally wanted to study art, but then she lost her drive and thought better of it. There was no point in wasting money, even if some of it was scholarship money, if she wasn't sure what she wanted to do. Her mother wouldn't mind her taking a year off. She could travel, see the world, maybe. Or just work. Lay low for a bit until she got her head on straight. The town was a sleepy little town, it was welcoming and friendly, and there was always a spot open to work with her mother.

Isabelle decided to work with her mother, learning the ropes of the business. She learned the financial and the practical, customer side to it. There was so much to remember, and far more to it than she had originally thought. It was not like her mother came home and discussed all the details with her as she grew up. Sally's business had grown until she had five offices in five other towns, which was quite a feat for a small town single mother. But Sally had guts and she was as strong as an ox. After the upbringing she had working on a farm - hard work - then losing her husband, the love of her life, made her strong as steel, proverbially. And financial-wise, she'd been poor and through such hard times before that she didn't need much and knew how and when to spend her money and how to save. She'd grown up with nothing and still wanted nothing, but her daughter's happiness. She'd never wanted much for anything except the good for her daughter, and she only invested in things for her daughter and not herself. She'd never overly spoiled her child, making sure to give her the things a child needed and every now and then things when she wanted them, and to have her work on the farm, which always spat out individuals with good character. Every cent that could be saved was saved, and every penny that could be spent wisely was spent wisely.

Besides, Sally would get old one day, and if their business kept taking off as steadily as it was, she'd have to hand it to someone. And who would be better to hand it to than her own daughter? She'd have to train her to take over the business one day. In the mean time, Sally was the boss and Isabelle was the apprentice, learning the ropes.


	20. Chapter 20

Isabelle drove in a blue Chevy, passing cornfields on her left and right on the way to the livery. She pulled a left hand turn and parked in the driveway of a shop.

"Thanks, Carl," She said after he loaded the hay into the back of the van, and she drove out into the empty road.

Isabelle had decided to go to the small community college that was in the town next over while she worked with her mother expanding the business. She'd just finished getting her associate's degree. She'd started a year in of working with her mother, and it was a total of three years after high school.

Isabelle rolled home to a front porch where her mother was sitting in a rocking chair with a man to her left.

She didn't greet them because she didn't feel the need to, just pulling out the hay from the back of the truck and walking around the house with it to the barn.

"Hey baby," Her mother said to her.

"Hey," She said from behind the hay.

"How'd it go?"

"Just fine," She called back, disappearing.

Isabelle put down the bale of hay for the sugar brown horse, panting, and patted his neck.

She went inside through the back door. It always felt awkward whenever Steve was around – she was an adult now, they were both adults in a relationship, and she wanted to give them some privacy.

She went into the kitchen and took off her cowgirl hat and sat down, going over the paperwork for the last month and filling in the books. She did so in pencil because it was only her third time doing it and her mother always checked her numbers for errors since she was still new at it.

Once she was done she went upstairs and had a shower. She could never shower or relax until all the work was done.

In some ways, she missed studying, but in other ways, she was glad for the lack of stress. Her skin didn't break out so much.

Isabelle pulled out the bottle of face wash, poured the cool liquid onto her hand and washed her face. She then washed her body and the shower lever squeaked when she turned it off.

Isabelle had thought it was a good idea to start working with her mother, and at the time, it was. She got two years worth of business experience and volunteer experience – because she wasn't exactly paid because she was an apprentice because she wasn't supporting herself, but the volunteer work, working with customers and land was invaluable for anything she decided to do later. She learned the business side of things, which gave her a head start if she wanted to start her own business or for when she lived on her own, which, she contemplated, really should be soon.

Her mother had met Steve, the carpenter, in the next town over. Apparently she had met him some time ago but both were too shy to give each other the go ahead to go on a date, and at the time, Sally had been concerned about Isabelle's issues with her own father and whether or not she would accept someone new into her life. But as Isabelle and Sally traveled together for work, opening up new offices and maintaining the ones they already had, making sure everything was on par, they met more and more often accidentally. Isabelle had known something was going on, and one day her mother went on a date.

It had been a strange occurrence. But she came back, and her mother had been happy in a way that a woman is only happy with a man. Since this 'Steve' made her happy, Isabelle hadn't protested. She felt like her mother was going away a little, but she kept quiet about it because she wanted her mother to have something for herself. For so long it had been just Isabelle and the business she was dedicated to – it was time she had something for herself to be happy with.

Of course, distance was a problem. Sally could only see him whenever she visited town. But they were becoming closer now, and had entered into a steady relationship. Steve would come down every now and then just for a few days at a time and then they'd switch and she'd go up there for a few days at a time, now that she could leave the business in Isabelle's hands for a few short days.

But still, it was awkward for Isabelle. She had no idea how to relate to a father figure, never having had one. And it was so odd to see her mother in a romantic relationship. She was so used to affectionate words being thrown her way, but now whenever Steve was at the house she'd hear 'baby' and 'baby cakes' without it being directed at her. She felt jealous – she was always her mother's little girl, and now this Steve guy was coming in and hogging all the attention for a few days at a time.

But, Isabelle reasoned every time she felt jealous, he made her mother happy in a way that she'd never seen before. In a way that Isabelle herself couldn't make her mother happy. Her mother had assured her that she did make her happy, but it's a different kind of happiness in a man and that one day, she would experience that. Isabelle hoped not. It looked disgusting. It took up all of one's time and energy, and her mother was not herself around this new guy. She was this giggly, flirtatious... creature. She herself didn't want to become that around a man - just losing her head so easily. That was Isabelle's view.

But still, Steve wasn't a bad guy. He tried to talk to her and was nice and friendly. Isabelle in turn was courteous, and always prepared extra dinner for him and set out a place mat for him at the table. But it was a polite relationship and not anything close. Isabelle had no idea how to get any closer, even if she wanted to. It felt so awkward, and she always felt so nervous.

She wanted to move out soon, but she would need to have a proper job. She'd either have to get a job with her mother, who wasn't giving her anything easily, she wouldn't get it just because she was her daughter she would have to apply like every other person. Or, she had to go to a four year university and find a job as a waitress or something. Or she could re-apply to Wayne Enterprises, and see if her business experience could get her in. She had been rejected when she had applied beforehand. She hadn't had enough experience, being only in high school. She'd kicked herself, her baby sitter had had a degree in accounting and while babysitting her was volunteering at the local bank for work experience. They were very competitive in who they chose to work for them, even at entry level positions, because their company was just that big. But she could always try again now she had experience. Then, she could support herself, she could study when she felt like she could since she would have an excellent salary - Wayne Enterprises always paid their workers very, very well - she could do anything she wanted.

She thought optimistically as she applied moisturizer to her face. It could get so dry from the sun and the dirt. She could only try. What was the harm in trying? Things had to change. She could feel that things were changing – and they had to. She was the third wheel in a house she was now too old to stay in, she was too much of an adult for it to not be awkward and too tight a fit for three. If things got off the ground with Steve, and it looked like it was, they'd want to get married, move in somewhere. She couldn't be in the picture by then.

She needed to get out and make her way in the world, no matter how scary it was.


	21. Chapter 21

She'd been rejected, again, for a position at Wayne Enterprises. Isabelle sighed. She'd heard nothing for so long, getting up every day to check her mail, but only came up with nothing until the day she got a rejection letter. It was tiring, disconcerting. She wondered if she would ever get anywhere. She wondered if God was doing this on purpose. According to her mother, everything he did was on purpose. She'd like to think that, then that would mean there was an actual reason for why this was happening and something better would happen later.

Isabelle trudged, yes trudged, back into her house. She found Steve there in her mother's pink gown, sipping some coffee, and immediately things turned awkward. She went into the kitchen anyway and put down her rejection paper on the counter next to her as she poured some apple juice for herself.

"What's that?" He inquired politely, not knowing the nature of the paper.

"A rejection letter." She replied. "I'm trying to apply at Wayne Enterprises." She put down the water filter and sipped her cup.

"Oh yes," She heard Steve say from behind her through a mouthful of eggs her mother probably cooked for him. "Your mother told me,"

Isabelle rolled her eyes, glad he couldn't see. Her mother told him _everything. _Things he had _no business, _she felt, to know.

She sighed, scratching her eyelid, leaving the kitchen and walking into the kitchen, walking in on her mother in another gown, a green one, sitting with her feet up on the low rise table, flicking the channels on the TV screen. So she'd heard everything then. The only place to go was her room, to be alone.

She trudged up to her room in her boots, not caring for the mud trail it left and she'd have to clean up later, and closed the door behind her. She took a breather for a few moments before she went back downstairs to work on the farm.

Isabelle worked through the day, making sure she worked extra long and delicately so she didn't have to go back inside so quickly.

She went in for dinner and it was a quiet affair. No one mentioned the rejection paper in the recycling can. Even if her mother didn't have eyes like a hawk, Steve would have probably mentioned it.

Just as Isabelle was leaving the kitchen the phone rang.

"Baby can you get that?" her mother said. Isabelle wasn't sure if she was talking to her or Steve, so she went upstairs. She heard a sigh, then as she went to the bathroom to wash her hands of dirt she heard her name being called. She turned off the tap quickly and dried her hands on the checkered dish towel before running downstairs. Her mother handed her the duck egg blue phone and she took it wonderingly. Had Wayne Enterprises changed their mind? Had they sent the rejection letter by mistake?

Taking the corded phone, Isabelle cleared her throat and put it to her ear, saying with a professional voice,

"Isabelle Dale speaking."

"Isabelle."

"Jonathan?" She asked in complete surprise. It was clearly evident. He chuckled on the other side of the phone.

"Why so surprised?"

"Well, I just… I don't know!" She said. "I haven't heard from you in so long! How are you?"

"Yes, well, your mother had given me your phone number before I left. I thought I lost it, but I found this slip of paper and thought I would call. I didn't know if you had moved or not, or if you were still at home. So good to hear your voice."

"I… yeah." She had no idea what to say and laughed nervously. She looked up at her mother in the kitchen, then walked out the door with the cord stretching behind her and walking into the living room. It wasn't much but it was better than feeling their stare on her. "How have you been?"

"Oh, I've been good." He said. "I've finished studying psychology. I have my master's now."

"_What?" _She said in complete surprise again. "_That _quickly?"

He chuckled.

"Well, I've studied so much in my life I could take the exams for several years of college just fine and pass – so I skipped many years. I only did my Masters really."

"Wow," She breathed in awe. She was so happy for him! "I'm so happy for you!"

He chuckled.

"I was actually calling because I was thinking of visiting home."

"Oh – how nice."

"Yes, Gotham gets a bit dreary after a while."

"Oh, that sounds so nice," She breathed into the phone. "I'm struggling at the moment, I've been working with my mother for the last few years but I'm struggling to find an actual job. I don't want to study. I've tried Wayne Enterprises but it isn't working right now."

"Wayne Enterprises?" He sounded surprised. "With your grades? I'm sure you could get in there."

"That's not what the rejection papers say," She laughed.

He was quiet for a moment.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Oh, it's fine. Seriously. Something will work out. Because right now all the doors are closed. I'll find one that's open." She 'haha'ed.

"Isabelle!" She heard the quick whisper from her mother and put the receiver to her shoulder as her mother told her to ask how Jonathan was for her. She mouthed that he was coming back to town. Her mother's blonde eye brows raised to her hairline then she quickly and excitedly told her to ask him to come over. Isabelle sighed but knew better than to roll her eyes at her mother.

"Jonathan, my mother wants you to come over when you come to town," She grumbled into the receiver, twirling the cord up in her finger. Jonathan laughed breathily into her ear and she shivered involuntarily from it.

"I'm sure we'll see each other. I'm just dropping in for a few days before I have to leave. The University won't let me go long without pay."

"Pay? Oh, you work there."

"Oh, yes," He said like it's slipped his mind. "They've offered me the position of professor."

Now Isabelle was doubly awed. There was silence on her end of the phone in her awed-ness.

"Oh that's so great, Jonathan. I'm so happy for you. You've got your Masters, you're working at a University, brightening young minds…."

He chuckled again breathily.

"Yes. I'm looking forward to seeing the town I grew up in."

"Oh, okay. I have to go soon. See you later, okay? Bye." She hung up on him and put the receiver back in the headrest before going upstairs to go to bed. It was quite late.

"Isabelle, did Jonathan say why he was returning to town?"

"I dunno," She replied, retreating back down a step in the middle of the staircase. "Maybe to see his grandmother?"

Sally blinked from the kitchen table with a white mug of coffee in her hands.

"But honey, Ms. Crane died two years ago."

Isabelle shrugged.

"I don't know then."

It was only when Isabelle got upstairs that she realized she never asked him when he was coming to town. She screwed her eyes shut and realized she probably looked like an idiot in front of him. How embarrassing – the man with the Masters, the professor… ohhh deaarr… She thought.


	22. Chapter 22

Thank you for my reviewers, favorites and alerters. I would have updated this a few hours ago, but wouldn't let me.

* * *

Jonathan Crane sighed as he drove down the country road, the familiar cornfields a sight that brought back memories. He'd walked past those cornfields every day growing up. They witnessed some of the most brutal savagery dealt to him, but also, the utmost kindness. Three years was really too long, really. He passed a windmill, a barn, and a chapel before he made it home.

There was a knock on the door and Steve answered it. He saw a young man on the doorstep with dark hair, blue eyes, and glasses; he was short and wore black clothes that stood out from the dusty clothes everyone in the town wore. He must be from out of town.

"Honey?" He called.

Jonathan looked confused at the man who answered the door. He hadn't known he'd lived here. She hadn't moved house – because she had answered the phone.

Sally came to the door wrapped in a knitted shawl and she smiled upon seeing who it was.

"Jonathan! How _are _you? Come in, come in!" He noticed an extra sparkle in her eyes that hadn't been there before. The man with salt and pepper hair must have been her boyfriend.

"Thank you, Ms. Dale," He said humbly.

"Oh no, dear, call me Sally. Everybody calls me Sally. Even my clients." She laughed heartily and waved Jonathan inside the house where he moved into a living room that was more nicely furbished than he remembered. "Sit. Sit. I'll go ge' Isabelle. She's prob'ly outside, Steve, honey, could you just see if," She pointed with a wave towards the window near where Steve was and everyone in the room looked when he parted the curtain at the farm and everyone saw a moving figure in the cornfields, tall enough to just be seen.

"Our rabbit died, poor Mittens," said Sally, wrapping the shawl around herself more and going to sit at the dining table with Steve. "You're welcome to go see her if ya want, Jonathan,"

He nodded and smiled at her.

"Thank you," He passed through the back door quickly, eager to see her for himself.

"That the boyfriend?" asked Steve jutting the knife for margarine over his shoulder Jonathan's way.

Sally made a face.

"No, no, that's her friend, Jonathan,"

* * *

Jonathan made his way through the cornfield with his eyes on the movement he had seen earlier. Now he was among the corn he couldn't see where she was. He kept going for the spot he had seen her and came out in a little circular clearing around the scarecrow. There she was, older, more mature, hair longer, dressed in ranch clothes, and had just finished covering up a hole.

She looked up at him.

"Ah, Jonathan," She said pleasantly. "Our rabbit Mittens died." She put the shovel in the dirt with her foot on it in rest and sighed.

She looked good, he thought after taking in her appearance and her face.

"And you put him... by the scarecrow?" He asked. "Forgive me if it's rude…"

"Oh no," She said quickly, flashing a smile his way before patting the dirt flat with her shovel. She held eye contact as she spoke, "The scarecrow's my friend," Then it was gone as soon as it was there.

She put down the shovel and walked around the Scarecrow to him, arms out wide.

"Well, hello there, Jonathan," She said in delayed greeting. He unfroze and hugged her as she came to him. She patted his back and he stroked hers before she pulled away. "I'm sorry, I don't remember, are you going to be in town long?"

"Oh no," He smiled. "And this will just be a quick visit. Like I said, duty calls."

* * *

Isabelle trudged inside after an extra long, exhausting day on the farm. The horse had given birth and she had to be out there to supervise it. Her mother had gone inside earlier. But Isabelle stayed out to make sure that the foal was okay. She gave it a blanket for the night. The foal was female. She was thinking of naming it Star.

Right as she came up to the house, crickets chirping all the while, she heard some noise coming upstairs from her mother's bedroom. Cheeks reddening, Isabelle stepped back. They'd tried to keep it quiet before, because they knew she was in the house. They always held back and kept their affection to a minimum. Recently, it'd been getting more heated between them. But now…

Isabelle turned with her hand over her mouth and started walking. They kept it down for her and as soon as they thought they had a moment together they got together. So she'd give them some extra space. She passed the tractor parked in the fields and just kept walking. She got out onto the road and walked in the midnight darkness, although she could see because of the light of the moon. The town was so small she could find her way back in the dark.

"Isabelle?"

She shrieked on the top of her voice, jumping in her skin only to see Jonathan right in front of her – in a car, too. How had she not heard that? He smiled at her. This was the second trip he'd made here. When was the last time he'd come here again? She couldn't remember. He looked unchanged, his eyes were still piercing blue, and his hair, which had blackened many years ago while he was still young was as slick as ever. His glasses were on his nose and now he wore some kind of a sweater and a blazer. His car was black.

"Isabelle, is that really you?" It was like he couldn't tell because it was dark.

She was probably still muddy, her gloves were still on and her ranch clothes were not for showing other people, but she didn't feel embarrassed. They were her clothes.

"Jonathan, hi! Fancy meeting you out here in the middle of the night!"

He checked his wrist watch.

"It's only nine, actually."

"It's only nine…" She repeated to herself, shaking her head as she thought about her mother and her boyfriend. "So what's up?"

He shrugged, hand on the steering wheel.

"Just arrived."

"Trip nice?"

"Oh yeah."

"Flight good?"

"Terrific."

"…I don't know what we're talking about anymore," She confessed honestly. He grinned and chuckled. "Hey, I heard your grandmother died. I'm so sorry about that. But, um, where are you going?"

"Oh I'm staying in a hotel. I was just seeing the sights."

"At night?"

Good _Lord, _She thought in her head. Where did all her manners go that her mother had taught her? Her blunt ways were coming back out again because she was just so excited.

He didn't seem perturbed, however.

"Yes. It looks different at night, doesn't it?" He leaned forward on his dashboard to look at the stars. She looked too.

A car drove by.

He leaned back and smirked at her.

"On a midnight stroll then?"

"No, a nine o'clock stroll." She corrected with a smile. He grinned endearingly at her.

"Well, if I remember correctly this isn't the correct way home,"

"No, I guess not," She said, suddenly looking evasive. He noticed.

"Do you… wanna go for a ride, then?"

She looked at him. Blinked.

"Here? Now?"

He hand on the steering wheel upturned.

"Sure, why not."

"Hm. No. I don't feel like it." She said, turning around and walking back in the direction of her home. She heard the car follow her and the lights crept up past her legs.

"Are you sure? I don't mind, honestly. It's on the way to the hotel,"

She put her hands in her ranch coat pockets and thought.

"Okay, sure."

He nodded in assent and she walked around the car and warned before she got in.

"I'm afraid I'm a bit dirty from the ranch, so… I don't mean to dirty up your car."

She opened up the door and closed it behind her. He was feeling the air coming from the front.

"It'll take a while to heat up,"

"Oh no, it's fine. I'm not cold. I'm used to this temperature."

He sat back and just drove a while.

"How is the boyfriend?"

She looked at him sharply.

"Of your mothers'?" He clarified.

"Oh, fine." She said. "I would appreciate it if you take me home slowly – they're kind of having a moment and I didn't want to interrupt… I hope this is more than enough time," She thought out loud, not noticing him look at her in the corner of his eye. He slowed down.

"Oh wait, you must be tired. Never mind. Drive fast."

He smiled involuntarily. She was so cute.

"This is fine, Isabelle."

She looked at him sluggishly.

"I missed you. When was the last time you were in town?"

"About a month ago."

"Wow." She said, looking out the window. "Must really miss home, huh?" She asked. "Or is Gotham that bad?" She joked.

He chuckled.

"Have you had any luck with Wayne Enterprises yet?"

"Oh, no. I haven't applied again. I'm sort of abiding my time a little while. But I have to think of something soon to do."

He hummed.

"I'm sure something will come up."

"Me too." She agreed optimistically.

They drove in silence for a while. Isabelle just looked out the window interestedly, trying to count the stalks of corn she could see.

"Well, you've been here a while. How about a change of scenery? You can come visit Gotham for a while."

"Ew, no. Besides, who would I stay with? You shouldn't stay with someone in any crime ridden city unless they've got a good house in a good neighborhood."

He chuckled at her, changing hands on the steering wheel.

"You could stay with me."

She thought about it. He noticed she was thinking.

"You know, change of scenery. Clear your head. Maybe you'll discover something there or find some inspiration for … a life's purpose,"

"Well, it does sound nice, but the problem is, wouldn't that be a bother for you? I mean, what am I going to do while you work?"

"Oh, I could take some time off."

"…Aren't you taking a lot of time off?" She asked carefully. "To come out here?"

Well yes, he thought. But they thought he was arranging his grandmother's funeral.

He shrugged and nodded.

"I suppose. Maybe you can come and visit the University."

"Oh that does sound nice. I was accepted there once."

"So you want to come?" She thought he sounded hopeful.

"It would be nice, if it wasn't too much trouble for you, letting me stay."

"Oh nonsense. You're welcome." He smiled at her and she was stricken about a quality about it, but she let it drop and Jonathan turned down a road with a 'no soliciting' sign before coming to a stop at her house.

"Thank you _so so much _for driving me home," She said gratefully. It was winter so, it was cold. If she had walked home she would have had a red nose by the time she got in and frozen hands because she had no gloves on. Even if she was used to it, it'd be unpleasant.

He smiled.

"You're welcome. Check the flights for when you can come out. If you can pack your bags quickly, maybe you can leave Sunday?"

She thought for a minute. She was a grown woman now, she could go where she liked, it's not like her mother dictated her time. It was just the money.

"Isn't this time of year expensive, though, Jonathan? I think it might have to wait until the holiday season dies down, because I don't have the money on my own for a ticket at this time of year," She said clearly without remorse or guilt or sadness.

He looked forward, then back at her.

"I can buy you your ticket," He said.

She laughed, thinking he was joking.

"That's really funny, Jonathan."

"I have the money." He said.

"Oh no, come off it. Let's wait." She unbuckled her seatbelt, but he stopped her with,

"I'm serious." She let the seatbelt draw back into the side of the door. "I have the money. I could do with the company. It would be nice."

She thought about it, then lifted one shoulder.

"It would be really, _really _nice to get away from these guys for a while. Just a little while." She pointed at him playfully. "Then you have to let me go."

He chuckled.


	23. Chapter 23

Jonathan left his hometown as quickly as he could as a teenager. Scarecrow was growing. He was becoming too dangerous. He'd worked extra hard and extra long to finish his studying so he could secure a good position somewhere. The University took him. They loved him, except for his arrogance, he'd noticed. He noticed everything. That's what made Jonathan good at what he did.

While he was studying, he began building something. Something very special. His sanctuary. He would go there often and keep building it, keep making it. In his sleep, he'd still be building it. Every time he'd go back, he'd add to it. It made his nights shorter, but he had to do it. He _had _to. He _needed _to.

It was done in no time. When Jonathan worked towards something he had full dedication and perseverance towards his goals. It's what allowed him to get a Masters' so young and begin teaching as a Professor. He was only a few years older than his students.

* * *

Isabelle woke up feeling groggy and heavier than she'd ever felt. The only thing close to this was when she had a traumatic day and cried herself to sleep. She'd woken up feeling heavy and tired but it was nothing compared to this. Immediately Isabelle noticed she was in a strange room.

_Oh good, _She thought. Jonathan must have laid her down when he brought her to his house.

But… she remembered _being _at his house. She remembered having a whole day with him, out and about, seeing Gotham like he'd promised her. Then… nothing.

She sat up, her hair a bit out of place, when the door opened and Jonathan walked in with his briefcase. He walked in and set it down on a desk. He sat in a chair. He took off his glasses and licked his lips.

"Isabelle."

Was this some sort of dream?

"How are you? Are you feeling okay?" She gave no answer, because her mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool, and he got up and left for a minute. He came back with a glass of water, and a straw. She watched it as he brought it over. He approached her wearily. She realized she was sitting on top of a bed, which she noticed was lavender. He gave her the water and she put it to her mouth, sipping it. She drank the whole thing before giving it back to him, noticing he looked more visibly relaxed.

"Is there something in the water?"

She said suddenly. Her mouth felt better.

"No." He answered, truthfully. He put the glass down next to his briefcase, his eyes on it. It had her DNA on it. Her mouth.

"So… why am I here? Are we playing a game?" She asked. "It could be a game, you know. Like, I take you to my city, then I lock you up in a room and you have to guess where I am before I let you out. Sounds fair?" She asked, blank faced. Then her throat felt dry and she coughed. He was up immediately. He left and came back with some water, and she drank more of it.

"Thank you," She said cheerfully. He took it and placed it down and sat down again.

"Isabelle, this isn't a game," He began, putting on his glasses. "You're here under my protection."

"From what?"

"Excuse me?"

"I said, from what? If I'm here to be protected from something, what am I being protected from?"

"I can't answer that."

"So… this _isn't _a game? Just for clarification."

He smiled.

"We can make it a game,"

"Okay, so it isn't a game." She clarified, crossing her legs. "So then… when will you let me out?"

"Never." He said honestly, blue eyes glowing.

"Never?"

"Never." He repeated quietly. "Never ever."

"Ever and ever," She played along.

"Ever and ever," He repeated after her.

He watched her.

"No." She shook her head. "I _am _leaving. You said a few days."

"I never agreed to that," He said in that still quiet voice. "I let you say it, but I never agreed so."

She slumped.

"Hm. So I'm never seeing my momma again?"

"Seems so."

"Or… any of my animals again? Or my house?"

"Think of it this way," He tried a different tactic. "You'll never have to look for a job again. You have one – to be here."

"That's a sucky job," She said honestly. "I've never felt so bored in my life and I've only been here five minutes."

His lips pursed.

"Well you'll learn to like it."

"Suuure. Says who?"

His eyes glowed more intensely than before.

"This is for _you, _Isabelle. For _you._"

"I didn't ask for this,"

"You are mine."

The sudden statement cut through the heat like a knife.

"You always have been. And you always will be. You. Are. Mine."

She was so surprised she couldn't say anything.

He sighed and seemed to calm down, his eyes less intense.

"You are going to stay here. With me."

"Will you still work?"

He looked irritated at having been interrupted. He always hated that, like how she hated to repeat herself.

It was an important question, though, to determine where she was.

He looked like he was going to answer her, then he realized it and closed his mouth. She grinned at him for nearly catching him out.

Then a thought came to her and her kind face returned.

"…If I stay here with you for a while, _then _will you let me go?"

"No." The answer was immediate. She looked saddened.

"Oh. Well, then can I have something to eat?"

"Of course. You can have whatever you want while you're here. You need only ask."

_At least he isn't going to hurt me, _She thought optimistically. _At least it's a loving captor. That's better than a neglectful, or abusive captor any day. _She really was very lucky, she thought.

* * *

Kidnapping is not nearly as light as I am making it. It is actually a traumatic thing. I do not mean to offend or make light of kidnapping or be inaccurate.


	24. Chapter 24

She was taking this well, he thought. There was no screaming or crying yet.

She was even eating in front of him. Most didn't want to look at their captors or trust them enough to eat near them.

Isabelle looked up at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, something growled.

"Do you want to come and sit?" She patted the bed next to her. "That way, we can eat together, and you're not all the way over there."

He was up from his chair very quickly, straightening his tie. He walked over to her as she at the plate of food he'd given her and sat down next to her. She was even willingly sitting on a bed near him.

_You better not do anything to set us back, _He thought to his other half. But his other half was strangely quiet.

She didn't look at him and only focused on eating. He watched her discreetly, just content on being so close to her. This, this was more than he'd hoped for, even after a week of having her here. It was the first day.

She was finished before he realized and she looked up at him, smiling, handing him the plate.

"Done," She chimed. How he wanted to kiss her.

He got up quickly and all of a sudden, left.

* * *

She asked for things, just to test his limits. Which really, wasn't a good idea, but she wanted to test the waters. After she'd asked for a little umbrella in her drink, a new pillowcase, and some pink slippers with bunnies on them, she decided she should stop because she sympathized for her poor captor. Getting things she didn't even need. It wasn't fun. It was better when he was here, where she could see him. Then, while he was here, she couldn't fantasize about how he'd leave her there and then never feed her or maybe forget about her or plot for ways to kill her. If he was in front of her, she had assurance that he wasn't going to hurt her.

Jonathan came back into the room with a tray in his hands, and upon not seeing his love on the bed, he panicked. Then he heard a clink from the walk in closet and relaxed, closing the door behind him to signal his arrival.

"Oh, Jonathan!" He heard her acknowledge his arrival. "Come in! I'm trying to decide, which one is better, the pink one, or –" Her voice died. She'd been trying to make a game of it, trying to make light of it, when she saw the dresses, all in her size. But when she saw the white one, so identical to the one she always used to wear when she was little, her voice had just faded.

"Isabelle?" She heard from the main room.

"Coming," She said in a low voice. She put both dresses back and turned off the little light and closed the cupboard door. He looked upon her and noticed she had not changed.

"Is there nothing to your satisfaction?" He asked.

"Oh no," She was quick to correct him. "It's all beautiful… just…"

Scarecrow burned in Jonathan's eyes.

_**Make her wear the white one, Johnny. Did she see the white one?**_

_I think, and you already know this, that her response means she has._

The growl of pleasure from his other half let Jonathan know he was pleased, and that he was going to get an earful.

_**Ohhh put her in it, Johnny. Or better yet, let ME put her in it!**_

_Stop it. We don't want her scared of us, remember? She may look like she's taking it well but we don't know what's going on inside of her until a few days passes._

Scarecrow grumbled, but he silenced. As always, the sight of his beloved, as he was only noticing as of late, made him long for her and hunger for her.

_We don't know if this is just a way for her to deal with the denial and the situation,_

Scarecrow grumbled unhappily, _**Well she better get used to us quick, Johnny.**_

Scarecrow was impatient, Jonathon was not. He'd worked his whole life to get to a position where he could turn fear on others. He'd worked for three years to build this sanctuary from nothing. As soon as he realized he'd needed her, he'd gone out and got the tools he needed to have her and possess her.

But he knew with his other, the clock was ticking.

He breathed in and sighed.

_I know._

He hungered for her too.

* * *

They reached a standstill. He voiced his thoughts.

"What happened, Isabelle? With your grades, you could have gone anywhere," He'd always been in awe of her intellect.

She shrugged.

"I just lost motivation. I had a dark night. After I lost my father… well, not _really, _but after I lost who he was, I lost my identity. I lost my self-perception – who I'd built myself up to be in that moment… My mother never quite realized the extent… of which I'd built myself up to be like him. Then, when he _wasn't _my father… I couldn't live a lie. And all my motivation went crashing into the ground. I never found it again, I guess." She reflected. "A blouse man…" She whispered. "A _blouse _man…"

Jonathan was so caught up in the moment, of her opening up to him, when it was more than he hoped for for a long while that he was out of his seat and kneeling in front of her.

"Don't you worry, Isabelle. You'll always have a place here, with me."


	25. Chapter 25

He gave her some self-sufficiency, though. He gave her a microwave, and a fridge, a bin, even! Wow! Who ever heard of captives getting that? She was one lucky captive. There were counter tops in the corner of her room, and there was a sink installed. Before she hadn't had crockery which is why he had to go get some for her water. In her bathroom there was a shower, a toilet, and a built in sink on a counter top. There was a television and a sofa, and her bed. It was all in one room, except the bathroom which was on its own and her closet. That was on its own. After Isabelle woke up, she went to go and brush her teeth. She knew if she broke her routine, this would all come crashing down on her and make her upset. She needed to look at things optimistically for her to feel okay.

She would get out of here, it was only a matter of time. Everyone slipped up, even her beloved Dr. Crane. He was her beloved, but this whole kidnapping thing was inexcusable.

He came in while she was brushing her teeth. She'd figured out what the door sounded like. And she couldn't hear it open from either her closet or her bathroom – but she did hear it shut.

"Isabelle?"

She rinsed her mouth, and poked her head out of the bathroom door.

"I'm not done yet," She said, referring to her routine of each morning. Then she poked her head back in and finished up in the bathroom.

She walked out cheerfully and sat down on the end of her bed, which had full view of the room. He was sitting on a chair again.

"So." She said, hoping to make things interesting. It was _so _boring in here. "What colour dress should I wear today? You get to help me pick."

"The white one."

He said.

Her reaction was immediate.

"Ew, no. The pink one, or the yellow one." She said, browsing in her head of the colors and picked two randomly.

"The white one." He said again. Was he broken? "And you get something in return."

She gasped.

"Okay!" She ran into the closet room and shut the door. Her face fell. She took the white one off her hanger, and looking at the ceiling she decided to endure. She walked out slowly dressed in it, leaving her old dress on the floor in there since she didn't have a hamper yet.

"Ta da." She said, without joy.

He motioned her to twirl, and she did so. He smiled softly at her. She went and sat down on her bed, smoothing out her hands, not sure what to do.

"So what do you want?"

She looked up at him.

"You gave me something, I give you something."

She blinked. She didn't want anything.

"Um, can we leave it as a favor?"

He chuckled, pulling off his glasses. If it worked that way, then she'd get a lot of favors from him. It would not work. She could pull something.

"I'm afraid not. Pick something you want."

She shook her head. She had always been one for honesty.

"I don't want anything, Jonathan."

He read her eyes. They could get into a mini argument over this, but he knew her well enough to know she was serious, but his tongue leapt out before he could stop it from taunting her.

"Not even your freedom?"

She looked over at him.

"I thought you said you weren't going to let me go?"

"That's right, I did say that," He said, displeased with himself. "I can't believe I said that."

"Jonathan," She said, staring at him. "I feel like I'm talking to two people sometimes. At times I'm talking to you, and at times, I'm talking to someone else. Hello, someone else." She waved in a circle once. She wanted to talk to this other thing just to make sure he didn't feel left out. He probably got that from everybody.

Jonathan, and a mix of Scarecrow, as if called out forth for her, stood.

"You're right." He said. "Do you want to meet the other side of me?"

"…I'm sure if he wants to meet me, he will. I guess, if you want. If he won't hurt me, and he'll just be nice, and gentle…"

The white dress, the welcoming, the acceptance, it was too much, and Scarecrow came forward completely.

"Oh, I'll be nice…" He grinned.


	26. Chapter 26

_Wow, _Isabelle thought. She had definitely been right. This was a very different person to Jonathan. It _was _a different person.

"Well, hello," She stood up and smoothed her dress, talking to him like she'd met a stranger. With this one, she had the feeling she had to play her cards right and not step on his toes. "What's your name? I'm Isabelle," She reached out to shake his hand and he took it, twirling it and yanking her into his embrace. To her credit she made no noise and didn't struggle out of it. She knew she had to stay still. He held her there with his hands on her waist. Now that she was against him he was gentle, but he'd used more force than Jonathan would have to bring her over. She stayed still as he looked at her. She felt a hand smooth down her hair, find the blue hairtie, and toss it away like it was a nuisance.

"They call me Scarecrow, little girl…" His voice was gravelly, deep. She didn't give him eye contact out of submissiveness as he smoothed and stroked her hair. She sort of liked it. She blinked and looked up at him then looked down again. He leaned down and put his nose in her hair, breathing in.

"I don't believe we've met before, face to face…" He continued. "But you've always said… I was your friend,"

She searched quickly in her head for her reply, to when she said that. Oh yes, when she had said the scarecrow in her back garden was her friend.

"Yes, I did." She answered. He hummed and his arm tightened on her waist. It sounded so familiar that she gasped and pulled away a little, something he didn't seem to take well, until she looked up at him and said, "_you _were the one that's been visiting me at night!"

He chuckled breathily, raspily. Drew her closer.

"That is right, little angel…"

And really, somehow, she was smaller compared to Scarecrow than she was to Jonathan. Scarecrow stood completely differently to Jonathan, more menacingly, predatorily, dominantly, while Jonathan was more passive and a wallflower when it came to space. He was clinical, over primal.

"I missed you." She said honestly. His face became unreadable. "When you weren't there. I missed you." His face pushed into her hair.

"And I missed you, angel…" She decided now was a good time to hug him back. She brought her hands off his chest and clutched the back of his shirt, hearing him hum a growl.

He pulled away, and he was Jonathan now. He fixed his glasses on his nose. Isabelle drew away and changed her body language for when she dealt with Jonathan – far less intimate, more distance and space, and intellectual – theoretical. Of the mind.

"Welcome back, Jonathan." She turned around and walked over to her bed and sat down.

"Why do you not like the white dress?" He asked her.

"Because… " She looked up at him under her lashes. The other one, Scarecrow, may not like this. In fact, she knew he wouldn't. "Because it was the dress in which my dad was both made and broken. I don't want to wear it." She realized only just then.

Jonathan took a clinical approach to it.

"I see."

Then his voice changed, and it was the other. Scarecrow.

"It was what you were wearing the day I met you. We met you."

She looked down at it and smoothed it out.

"Yes, I suppose it was."

"From that day, you were ours." She didn't give him eye contact and just looked at the floor, didn't dispute the statement even though she disagreed with it, and Scarecrow faded back into Jonathan, who blinked a little at being back in control. "Forgive him, he can be… intense." She looked back at Jonathan in the eyes.

"It's okay. I like intense." He'd misread her submissive body language as defeat. Scarecrow hadn't read it wrong, however. What Isabelle meant by her statement was, she preferred intense over weak willed very much.

* * *

Jonathan had always liked Sherri Squires, or so he thought. Jonathan and Scarecrow were one and the same. There could not be one without the other. Yet, Scarecrow had never climbed into Sherri's bedroom to spend the night sleeping next to her.

* * *

Isabelle was feeling more and more conflict as the days passed. She was dealing with being kidnapped well, yet, she felt guilty for handling it so well. She thought she was _meant _to scream, and kick, and cry. She hadn't given into these thoughts in the beginning, because it was the only thing that kept her from falling apart. Now, she was really realizing that he _really was not going to let her go anytime soon _and she just… she was bored, so she could think about it, and… She felt so guilty for doing so well that her defenses slipped and she became upset.

She cried about it but ran over to the TV, where she could only watch movies and not use internet or watch shows or the news, and put on the first DVD that was there in the little row. It was Die Hard. She'd never seen it before, but the action took her mind off things. When it was over, she got up and put the next DVD in. And the next.

She was so engrossed in the movie that she didn't see the door open in the corner of her vision. She was startled when she saw him move across the room. She hurriedly paused the TV, waiting. Waiting for him to say something. He had paused, too, but then he walked around the television to look at what was on the screen and then he asked to sit. She nodded numbly. He sat. She wondered if this was all just a nightmare and she was going to wake up soon when he said,

"I didn't know what movies you liked. So I picked them randomly. Do you like it so far?"

She hadn't actually been watching, just zoning out, but nodded numbly.

He smiled at her.

"Look at us, getting along."

She smiled, thinking she was going to throw up. And the thought of throwing up on _him, _on his expensive suit, just made her smile.

He smiled back.

"Do you want to play it?"

Her smile widened into a grin, and then she got up and slammed the bathroom door behind her, kneeling in front of the toilet like it was a place of worship.

Jonathan took in her smile after she left, and noticed there was something off about it. Maybe it was finally sinking in. Maybe she was realizing. He waited to hear retching, crying, anything. But there was only silence, and after a long while the bathroom door opened and she walked out in plain view of him.

"How long have I been here?" She asked, closing the door with a click.

"Four days." He replied. Seeing no harm in telling her. She had no other way to tell the time than him.

_That short? _She thought. It had felt like years. Knowing she was probably expected to sit back on the couch, Isabelle walked over with more heaviness than before and sat down, pulling her legs up. She wished she'd worn a different dress, this one didn't fit her nicely when she sat down and it was too tight or awkward in some places. She kept shifting around and moving, too preoccupied with getting comfortable that she didn't notice when he stood up until he held out a hand to her.

"Come."

She took his hand slowly, wearily, and he helped her up off the couch. He padded with her over to her walk in closet, and at first Isabelle thought he would rape her in the small space, but he walked in alone with her able to watch from the door and he looked through the dresses in the racks. Finally, he picked out a purple one and gave it to her.

"Try that on." He said gently, holding her arms.

She looked down to the dress blindly. It didn't matter to her. It just gave her something to do, something to fill the day, fill the hours, until she could escape. She went into the bathroom and with that thought, gleefully changed into the purple dress that when she experimentally moved and bent and twisted in different ways, it moved with her well. The material was different.

She walked out and didn't expect him to be there. She thought he'd leave it alone and sit down and maybe they'd watch a movie. But he was there, right there, standing. He was smiling.

"Come here," He said with his hands out, beckoning. She felt frozen, but she slowly forced herself to do so. She twirled before she got there so that he didn't have to touch her, and he sighed with a nod of satisfaction.

"That's the right one."

_Weirdo, _She called, chimed, in her head.

"Are you ever going to change?" She asked.

He opened his mouth in response.

"You _must _work, to be in those suits every day."

Actually, he'd worn those suits just to throw her off.

"Actually, I can come tomorrow in my pajamas, if that would suit you?" He asked in his quiet voice.

"No, thanks, …" She moved over to the couch and sat down. "Are you going to sit? I thought we were going to watch a movie?"

He smiled, adjusted his glasses, and then sat down with her. His arm went over the back of the couch and she let his hand rest on the slope of her ribcage, his pinky on her waist. It felt good, so she cuddled into him. He turned his head slightly, then tightened his grip. She couldn't focus on the screen anymore when she felt Scarecrow's presence, and felt a kiss to her forehead. Before she realized it she'd gripped his shirt in her hand. Nothing could stop him from taking her if he wanted to. Nothing.

"I am not going to rape you, Isabelle." And just like that, Jonathan was back.

He was having a tough time keeping Scarecrow in check. But whenever he felt her fear, he shoved him back. It was only the threat of medication that made Scarecrow release control back to him. He knew what Scarecrow wanted. He didn't want to be erased. He didn't want to miss this. He didn't want to not exist anymore. Forgotten.

When Isabelle's fear relaxed, she slowly turned her cheek to face him, the lights flickering on the screen.

"Did you have a good day?"

He couldn't believe his luck. This girl, the one girl he wanted to love and accept him, was asking him how his day was.

"It only began when I got here," He answered softly, and he couldn't help himself by kissing her hair. She shivered.

"Are you sure you're not going to rape me?"

Jonathan closed his eyes over her head. This was getting more and more difficult for him.

"I am _sure, _Ms. Dale. As long as I am not teased,"


	27. Chapter 27

"Why am I here?"

"I already said, for your protection."

"From what, though? From inflation? From mortgage rates? From the crime in Gotham? Oh wait, I'm not there. Or am I?" She carefully judged his reaction. He gave her nothing.

"You are here because I brought you here."

"…Well done, genius. But is there a specific reason?"

"You're here to stay safe."

"Okay, we're getting somewhere, slightly." At least it wasn't 'for your protection' anymore. She'd just go mad if she kept hearing that.

* * *

The wind howled through the place at night. That gave her a clue. But so many places were windy, or it could just be the season, that she really had nowhere to start.

* * *

They mostly talked – about this, or that. He asked her questions, she answered them with brief answers.

* * *

Scarecrow was out again, and she turned her head to him. They were watching a movie, Rush Hour 2, when his presence filled the room again. She felt his other arm slide around her waist and his lips on her cheek. She let him lay her down on the couch and just kiss her skin. His arms didn't touch her, just kept her under him. Her legs were laying on the side. She knew with this personality, this person, she had to be calm and submissive throughout the ministrations. She just knew it instinctively. He made no move to take it further and pulled back, leaning on his elbow above her.

"You're beautiful, doll,"

That was what her mother called her when she was little. It was a positive pet name, but it reminded her of her mother. She tried to shove the feelings away. She would get out of here. She would.

"Thank you." She said, keeping her gaze calm. Down the couch, her feet were tense near his legs, her ankles locked. Scarecrow blinked and Jonathan was back. He moved away and she sat up and they watched the rest of the movie.

* * *

"London?"

"No."

"Wisconsin?"

"No."

She'd started at Gotham, then slowly branched her way out into the world.

"Have I said it yet?"

"No."

"If I say it, will you tell me?"

"No."

She sighed forlornly. She looked so dejected that he said,

"It's one place you'll never think of."

_**SHUT UP, JONATHAN! YOU DON'T WANT TO GIVE IT AWAY!**_

_It's only obvious to us. To one who does not already know the answer, it's impossible _was his clinical answer. But deep down inside, he had been moved by her apparent upset.

"New Zealand?"

"No."

"The Caribbean?"

"No."

"The Cayman islands?"

He sighed and took off his glasses.

"How about we watch a movie?"

"We always watch movies," She answered. "How about we keep playing this game?"

"Let's not."

"Or… we can… do a game of quid pro quo?" She asked hesitantly, thinking on her toes. She really, _really _needed something.

He looked intrigued by this. He straightened. He put on his glasses, his hair as neat as ever. Her mother loved him, she thought.

"Alright then, Isabelle. I'll go first, since I already know what you want. I'll give you some time to decide on something else. What's your favorite season?"

They'd never talked about things such as this in high school. Neither of them had deemed it important.

"Um… I don't have one. If I had to pick, autumn, because that's when it's warm and not too hot."

"Hm." He nodded, filing the information away. He looked at her expectantly. "And, yourself?"

She licked her lips, not knowing how his eyes went to the motion as she bit her lip in thought.

"Did you feel anything, when your grandmother died?"

There was a beat of silence.

"Wait, I didn't mean to ask that in an insulting way. Let me rephrase that, did it upset you, when your grandmother died? I'm sorry, I can be terribly blunt sometimes so my words come out in ways that I don't mean, before I've even thought through how it sounds."

Jonathan replied honestly and without thought,

"Yes. It did upset me."

Before she could say anything, he asked.

"What is your favorite colour?"

She bit her lip again.

"It must be white. Or purple."

He nodded.

"I see."

"And yours?"

* * *

Scarecrow was out again, on the couch too. She wasn't as nervous as she thought she'd be. When Scarecrow came out, he was easy to figure out. Jonathan was a fortress and she had to guess what he was thinking. Scarecrow was simple. Easy to please. Which she was sure that Jonathan greatly contradicted her opinion on that one.

They were on the couch, she under his arm as they watched a movie that's lights flickered on the white wall behind them and on their faces. She was pulled closer by his arm and Scarecrow was out and she involuntarily mewled when he pressed his face into her neck. It felt so good. Suddenly he was pushing her down onto her back again, his hands on her waist. But she was pushing her forearm against his chest.

"Nuh uh uh, Jonathan. Scarecrow. Quid pro quo."

Scarecrow hummed in thought. Well that was a good sign. She was confident in herself. Scarecrow liked the challenge too much, and the demand from her, to refuse. She had a feeling she didn't like submissive females to a complete extent.

He moved his hand to touch her hair out of thought but she smacked it and sat up, primly looking at the television.

"Nope. Not until you can give me something I want."

He grinned devilishly and leaned close to her ear.

"Which is…"

She curtly turned her head his way.

"More movies."

Then she turned her head back to the television.

He chuckled raspily in her ear.

"It is done." He went to touch her waist again but she raised her arms with an,

"Ah! Not _until _it is done."

He growled.

* * *

She was curled up on the couch, sleeping, since she was having nightmares in her bed, when Scarecrow came back. He had a sack and dumped the whole thing by the TV. She groaned and half awake, noticed how the sack was quite big and full.

"Mate, Isabelle," He picked her up off the couch bridal style, making her go 'ah' quietly and hold onto his shoulder, snuggling into him. He put her on the bed in his lap and she lay there, the ceiling light bright behind her eyelids, as he touched her. He simply held her in his lap, and touched her waist, her back, her hair, rubbed his cheek into her shoulder and neck, kissed it there, then drew her close and held her there for a long while.

She pulled away when it was time and crawled into bed.

"Goodnight Scarecrow. Jonathan."

"A kiss," He demanded.

"A journal," She replied.


	28. Chapter 28

"New York?"

"No."

"Paris?"

"No."

"How about Turkey?"

He sighed.

"I'll get it one day." She said. Then, saying something she knew would upset him, "Or when I escape I'll just find out,"

He slammed down his glasses and stood. She'd been pushing, and pushing, and pushing him. There had been no break. She'd been pushing him and testing him and now he finally snapped.

She let out a low laugh at seeing the look on his face. Maybe a few days ago she'd care, but after these last few days, she just really, really didn't.

"You have _no _idea what it took to get you here, you have no idea _what I've done, _to get you here, all the trouble I've been through, to make this happen," He paced back and forth. "You have no – " He laughed mirthlessly, then whirled around on her. "You have _no idea _what it's like being inside my head. None! I live with him, twenty four seven! Isabelle!" He breathed heavily through his nose, a desperate look starting to enter his eye. "He is… _always _there. Talking to me. Cackling – gleeful. Cheerful. He is never angry, Isabelle, never. Except, on that day, when Marcus Garvey grabbed you. Isabelle," He whimpered, seizing forward and taking hold of her arms. "_He's never been angry before,"_

"He's always been so happy, cackling – at the back of my mind," His voice broke. "even when he talks about killing people! He's never, _ever _angry over anything." He pierced her with eye contact. Her eyes were incredibly wide. "And that day, when Marcus Garvey grabbed you – I, Isabelle, he'd never been so incensed."

"I-I-It was, _black, _in my mind, for _days. _Just, _days. _I couldn't – I couldn't think. For the first time, I was alone, and yet at the same time, he was all I could see. He was all I could think. And all he could think about was how he touched you. How he touched something that was his, was _ours. _And the level was – red. It was red. Pure, volcanic, red. He was so angry." Jonathan ran a hand through his hair, messing up its neatness. "He wanted to kill 'im, 'belle, I did too, but he did it. He made it happen."

Her face softened.

"Then, he couldn't let anyone have you, ever. He's been this wasp, buzzing in my ear, on finding a bunker, getting you away from civilization. Making sure you were safe. Making sure you were his. Mine, too, but that's not the point," He turned away, his hands on his hips. He put a hand to his forehead and sighed. He turned around, "I've been working for this for three years. I'm not letting you get away now."

There was silence.

His eyes softened.

"You're mine. And he's been trying to tell me for years. He liked you from the start. From the very first day I met you. I couldn't tell, but when I look back on it, there had been immediate liking, immediate… _fascination _with you, and I…" He raised his shoulders with a mute open mouth and dropped them. This was the most expressive she'd ever seen Jonathan. "He's me too. I never knew. Scarecrow did. But I never knew, until Marcus Garvey touched you, that I wanted you for myself. I had to hide you away, to protect you." He looked at her. "_God, _all the time, when I'd find that scent on me, how mercifully quiet he was around you – I, I should have put together the pieces."

He looked at her suddenly with a new emotion in his eyes, and he left.

* * *

There was a spider in her bathtub. If it could get in, she could get out.

* * *

Jonathan watched his Isabelle move about. She'd relaxed around him enough to do her own thing when he visited.

As he watched her, his mind thought. If he went out and got her presents, would she like them? Women enjoyed presents from men. But would she? She wasn't a typical female. If he got the presents for her without her asking? As a surprise?

"When did your mother meet the boyfriend?"

"Oh, about a year ago." She sat down on the couch, bouncing a little. "He's a carpenter. They had eyes for each other, but they only really started to see each other about six months ago."

Jonathan nodded and adjusted his glasses. She peeked over at him, really not understanding why the girls had always found him ugly. She thought he was so god darn attractive. She shifted uncomfortably at the thought and looked away.

Jonathan licked his lips and took off his glasses.

"Do you still fear uncertainty?"

"Yes." She replied. "Everybody does."

* * *

Since his outburst, things had been different between them. It was like they were now on the same page, they were both more connected in a deeper way, even when they had been in high school.

"You say you got your associate's degree?"

She was so tired of these questions.

"Yes," She answered listlessly from the couch, which she was lying on. His piercing gaze was ever intense, ever interested in her and finding out more about her.

"The girl I remember could have finished a four year degree in this amount of time."

"If I had the motivation, yes," She answered coolly.

"Was there… a boyfriend, of any sort? A friend, I took you from?"

Isabelle was a loner, like himself. But he had to know, he hadn't cared at the time, he _needed _to scratch the itch and get her away, but now he had to know if there was anyone she was previously attached to.

She sighed. Isabelle thought of making someone up, but she didn't know the lengths Jonathan would go to and whether or not he would leave this person alone. All in all it was too much effort and she didn't lie.

"No."

"Is it disdain for others or fear of rejection that you choose not to interact with others?"

There was a sly smirk on his lips.

She looked over at him coolly, not rising to his bait.

"It's the first one. I can't have a conversation with someone that is unique. Except here," She said offhandedly, looking at the ceiling again. "I can talk to someone, walk down the road and have the exact same conversation with someone else. Therefore, it is not worth my time. I'm what, twenty one, now? I've heard all of it before, all the possible combinations of sentences that people put together, all of the possible topics of conversations that most people wish to converse about. It's just boring, now."

"So you isolate yourself?"

She sat up, not uncomfortable but just a little weirded out,

"Why does this feel like a therapy session?"

He smirked.

"Is it, Ms. Dale?"

"What?" She asked rhetorically, trying to understand him.

* * *

When there was Scarecrow, he tried to touch her more. She'd know because she'd be doing the randomest, most asinine thing and suddenly his presence would fill the room, like a time like this.

She turned around and he was standing there.

"Hi, Scarecrow," She chirped. "Are you going to let me out anytime soon?"

He walked closer.

"I believe Jonathan answered you aptly with, 'never, ever'."

She ducked out of his arms when he tried to kiss her. The only time they kissed was when he brought her that journal and she gave him a kiss on the mouth. He'd tried to make it longer, but she moved away.

She could tell if she kept asking, it would making him angry and impatient, and then he could easily take away and push past the barriers that she'd erected. She didn't want that. It was all she had for now.

"I made something for you." She said, walking past him to the table. Curiously, both Jonathan and Scarecrow followed her. She pulled up a necklace from the beaded kit that she'd asked for. She asked for small things so they would be easy to procure, a certain kind of candy, a beading/sewing kit, more movies, a journal, both to give her something to do and to make getting her things a safe thing for him, psychologically. Then later, when she had bigger requests, they wouldn't seem so impossible to complete for her, because he'd already gotten her smaller things. She didn't know what they were just yet, but it was good to build herself up, wasn't it.

She handed him the purple and blue beaded necklace, with a big white bead at the center and he took it. It looked comical, but her heart was kind as she took it in.

"You don't have to wear it," She said. "I don't expect you to. But I was making something and I made it for you. So." She shrugged.

He was looking down at it.

"I love it."

"Cool."

* * *

She learned to stop being afraid of him. And when she did so, she learned that he really just wanted love and acceptance. He was pleased with the necklace. All he wanted to do was sit with her and watch movies, or to talk. They talked a lot when he arrived. When he brought her books, most of them he'd read already, they discussed it after she'd finished it. It was... dare she say, pleasant. He didn't kiss her so much or want to touch her when they spoke a lot. It seemed to engage his mind. And in the company of one another, Isabelle remembered what it felt like to be in the company of someone who thought like her. It made her very happy, even for the circumstances.

"I'm sorry if the food is not to your liking," He scratched his neck.

"Oh no, it's very tasty," She said honestly.

She looked to him while they were sitting on the couch with a comedy on, expressing this happiness of hers, genuinely interested in his response.

"I feel the same way." He responded.

Jonathan was astounded when she leapt across the couch and curled her arms around him. A hug _she'd _instigated. He was so incredibly proud of himself, and happy. He couldn't believe that she wanted to do this, on her own, without him getting anything for her. She wanted _him_.

She pulled away when she was done.

"Just wanted to do that." She said, before sitting back on her end of the couch. He looked at her longingly.

They hadn't sat together, leaning against one another for a while. Would she… could she…. if he asked?

She looked at him, as if sensing his question. She crawled over and sat against his side. He curled his arm around her and she settled into him, watching TV. She did all this of her own accord, and he never felt prouder of himself in that moment.


	29. Chapter 29

He left the door open.

She approached it in anticipation, fear, and hope. She leaned to her left a little. Was it – was it _really _open?

When she saw a sliver of the outside she gasped. She wanted to approach it, open the door more, leave, but what if he came back? He'd said he'd be just a minute, he'd be back in no time.

Isabelle forced herself to take two steps back and sit on her bed, watching the door. She leaned to her left again and peeked out. She saw the sliver of a white wall. What lay beyond that?

She knew she should stay, she should sit down, in case he came back then it would earn more of his trust. But she couldn't stop herself, in the next moment she was peeling the door open more, looking out. It looked like a dim hallway. She looked left, and she looked right.

Her breath caught when she saw what she thought were stairs, leading diagonally towards the ceiling.

She heard a noise and Isabelle froze like an icicle. It came from her right, away from the doors. It sounded like someone was moving about in another room. It sounded like metal, like pots and pans.

She pulled away and inched back into her room.

* * *

The room was open when he came back. His heart leapt into his stomach as he lunged at the door, opening it wide to view an empty room – and his love on the couch from behind the door. He visibly relaxed, she hadn't seen the door open then. He closed the door quickly behind him as he heard the noise on the TV stop.

"Are you okay?" She was looking at him when he turned around. Her arm was over the back of the couch and she was seated casually upon the couch like nothing was wrong. Yes, she must have missed this. He had to be more careful next time. Who knew when she would find another way to escape. He'd been lucky this time. He sighed.

He smiled her way and walked in further.

* * *

The grey bunker doors slammed open and a disheveled woman staggered out into the open night. She panted in the silence, looking about her. A cornfield. A scarecrow to her left behind her. She wasted no time and ran out into the road, looking left then right, then taking the familiar way home at a sprint.

* * *

The police car's lights flashed red and blue outside the Dale house, the victim wrapped in a blanket, seated on the steps, crying into her mother's shoulder, the boyfriend on the side.

"Do you know the identity of your abductor?"

She shook her head.

"He said his name was Scarecrow."

The police officer nodded and took it down.

"I'm very sorry for this experience, ma'am. I'm very grateful you've been found. Get some rest," He slid the pen back in his pocket then went to talk to the other police officers that were around.

"The old Ms. Crane's residence has been searched, but we haven't found the attacker."

"I'm so sorry, my poor baby, I'm so sorry," Sally whispered into her shaking daughter's hair.


	30. Chapter 30

Isabelle went into a witness protection program, along with her mother. She had to change her name, as did her mother. Isabelle, to Ruth Fisher, and Sally, to Gertrude Fisher. They were relocated to Gotham. It was the city her abductor lived in, but Isabelle, or Ruth, didn't care. She wanted to be as far away from her hometown as possible, and Gotham was the first thing they offered. Big city, lots of people. She had no history there.

She had to move on. She had to heal. She had to live a life outside of him. She went and got her degree, a Bachelor's, and that landed her a job as a graphic designer.

She got her own apartment in the city and lived through each day doing what she was meant to do – eat, do her job, and sleep. Her therapist recommended her to get a pet if she would be living on her own, and she got a basset hound crossed with a blood hound from an animal shelter. She thought his droopy face was adorable. He was broken, just like her. What a pair they made.

* * *

She got a phone call on her day off and she picked it up.

"Isabelle," Her mother sighed on the other end.

"Mother, don't use that name," She said firmly. "It's Ruth, now."

Her mother audibly sighed.

"Yes, yes,"

"What's the matter? You sound tired,"

Sally had to break up with Steve after they moved to Gotham, not only because it couldn't work long distance, but also for his protection just in case. Sally had been a wreck – not the same since then.

"I keep thinking of calling him, doll,"

Isabelle's shoulders tensed up at the name. It was what her mother always used to call her growing up – before Steve, before being kidnapped by Jonathan. She hated any reminder of her past life, that linked her back to _then_.

"Mother, it's for his own protection."

Sally sighed again.

"That's the thing, baby girl, I'm thinking of moving back."

"_What_?"

"I'm a small town girl, I can't live in this big city. I'm used to farms, and cornfields, and cattle, the open plains. This city is too, too crowded and full of smoke. I know I smoke but, this is suffocating me."

Isabelle sighed, rubbing her forehead. She heard her dog whine on the sofa.

"That makes sense, mother. Do what you think is right. I have to go now," She clicked the button to end the call and put the phone on the receiver. She sighed, putting her hand over her mouth as tears threatened to come up. She didn't mean to push her mother away right now, but she needed space.

* * *

A year passed.

Isabelle still went to see her therapist in the day after she went to work. The only things she had in life were her job, and her dog. Fluffy was the only thing that brought her joy.

She took him to one area in Gotham where there was a park. It was barely used, sometimes kids would be taken down here with their parents. She took her dog, Fluffy, and threw the ball for him, watching him bark joyfully and run for it. She walked after him, laughing joyfully with a smile on her face. He was the only thing that brought her joy these days. Although she hated how he sometimes slobbered on her leg, or chewed through all his toys so she had to buy more, he made her heart very, very happy when they did things together like this, like when she saw him play, or eat, or do anything like a dog.

It was 10 am, and cold even through her winter jacket. It was overcast and the wind biting her cheeks but Isabelle felt only the rare happiness as she played with her dog.

She put his lead on and he jumped into her chair, nails scratching against it and the back seat. She sighed and got into the front of the car. She pushed a lock of her hair back from her face, her cheeks undoubtedly red from the cold. She sighed, feeling happy. She took hold of the steering wheel and pulled out of the park's practically empty parking lot and drove for home.

Once she got home she gave her dog a treat and walked into the apartment first before letting him in. He ran past her and jumped on the couch, curling up on his spot where there was a thick blanket for him to lie on. Isabelle turned on the TV as she went to take off her coat and boots by the door.

"Joesph Chilton, the criminal who murdered Thomas and Martha Wayne, will be having his prison sentence reduced in exchange for his testifying against mob crime boss, Carmine Falcone. The hearing for his release is today at…"

Isabelle put up her coat and walked back to the television.

"We hear Bruce Wayne will be in attendance." She switched channels.

* * *

Ruth applied for a job at Wayne Enterprises. They looked at her portfolio, and snapped her up right away. It was what she'd always wanted.

* * *

Okay, before anyone asks, I didn't name her Ruth after my username. And also, the timeline of events in Batman Begins and the rest of the movies is going to be a bit skew.


	31. Chapter 31

"In my opinion, Mr. Runn is as a danger to himself as he is to others. It would not be fitting he be sent to prison. I recommend he be moved to Arkham where he can be treated there."

Rachael Dawes's lips thinned in displeasure as she gathered up her papers and left.

* * *

Dr. Jonathan Crane, head of Arkham Asylum, drove through Gotham in a dark black car, blankly looking through the dashboard window. He'd been but a mere shell since his love left him. He hadn't quite been the same.

The night she left replayed over and over in his head. He thought things had been going so well, then he came back one day and she was gone. It just broke his heart. Why would she leave him, when he had treated her so well? Gave her everything?

The police came, but he was long gone. He'd gathered up everything of his he could, anything that would identify him, and he had to take all of her things too. He still had them in his house. A house in Gotham was expensive, but he had to get it.

Why couldn't she just _want _him?

Jonathan went home, and he went to his closet that held her things. All the dresses she'd left behind. The ones she wore still had her scent. It was the only thing that calmed him – calmed Scarecrow. Who, well, hadn't been in the best of sorts since Isabelle had gone.

He also had her blankets and pillow, which he kept in a chest so that he'd never lose the scent. He sometimes opened it just to have the scent remind him of her, and to touch the place where she had once slept, where her body had once rested under his roof. It both upset him and pleased him every time. He had wanted to use the blankets himself so he could sleep with it, but then his scent would mask hers and he'd lose it. And he didn't want that.

Tonight he'd need something more potent to calm him. He walked to the back of his closet where it hung and took the white fabric with his fingers, looking at it. The white dress. It sometimes greatly upset him, and Scarecrow, to see it, but other times it gave him great comfort to see, and be near. He slid his fingers over the material and then took the hanger off the rail and held it against his body, imagining that she was in it, there, against him, welcoming him home after a long day at work. It filled his heart with content. He put the white dress back on the rail and left the closet, turning off the light. His shoulders were untensed after smelling her scent, his eyes clearer and his head less full of stress. Less. And yet, more. He had another tension, another ache. It'd been building. A purring, quivering ache in his body, underneath his skin and in his gut.

* * *

Her therapist encouraged her to be social, to go out with friends and have fun. She knew it wouldn't work, but she did it because if it was a clinical method that worked for people, she had to try it. She ended up going home feeling lonelier than before. In the times like this, she thought of Jonathan. He would have been able to comfort her. Even his presence alone comforted her. She was torn – because he was her captor as well as the only person she ever accepted in her mind as a companion. That made it hard when she was separated from him. She missed him. She missed his words, his wittiness, his intelligence. At night she craved to have him near to sleep against – Scarecrow, Jonathan – and during the day she thought about him. Either admiringly, or like a monster.

He was the boy she grew up with. Even if they didn't share every detail of their lives together, they were close. Closer to each other than to anyone else. She felt warmly towards him, yet she also felt angry towards him for taking her away and locking her up. She knew it could have been worse, but that knowledge didn't help her. It was a traumatic experience and she was still going through the process.

* * *

She was the only woman he was comfortable around. He saw her as a friend, even if he'd never divulged the secret of Scarecrow with her before he'd quite literally told her himself, (it was just never spoken of before, it just was never relevant), and he considered her a companion to his heart. With her gone it was like a piece of him was missing. He was in mourning of that loss.

* * *

"In my opinion, Mr. Zsaz is as much of a danger to himself as to others. I would not recommend his release. I would suggest his move to Arkham where he can be properly treated."

Rachael Dawes's licked her lips and gathered up her papers angrily.

"That's the second of Carmine Falcone's thugs you've had pulled out of jail."

"Well, the work offered by organized crime must have an attraction to the insane." She followed him.

"Or the corrupt."

He saw the District Attorney, Carl Finch.

"Mr. Finch, I would like to inquire as to what sort of implications your office has authorized _Ms. Dawes_ to make. If any."

He pompously walks to his car. He'd done enough favors for Falcone now. They only irritated him further than he already was. The frequent run ins with that pesky intern attorney showed she was onto him. He didn't need any provocation. Scarecrow was restless, always simmering, always just beneath the surface of his skin. If someone plucked his string just the wrong way Jonathan saw red. He was like an itch, under his skin. The experiments on the inmates didn't help. They couldn't scratch the itch like Isabelle could.

Sitting back in the driver's seat Jonathan sighed heavily. He had to get help. He had to do _something. _He couldn't survive like this keep going like this. He started driving.

He'd tried looking for Isabelle again, just to see how she was doing. But her name didn't come up in the registry books. No name, no record, no telephone number. It was like she was wiped right off the face of the Earth, even for those who were professionals in finding those who didn't want to be found and used illegal means to do so, which was not above Jonathan's reach. Either she'd entered a victim or witness protection program, they'd said, or she was dead and someone had gone through great lengths to hide her. He knew it wasn't the latter. He just knew it. Thankfully he had all her things while she was with him at his house, so he could be reminded that it had all been real.

Jonathan saw the road sign for a park, and decided to go there to cool off. He'd never been before, it wasn't exactly near where he lived, but maybe the green and some fresh air would clear his head.


	32. Chapter 32

"C'mon boy, let's go." Isabelle put on her coat and picked up her scarf from the coat rack, walking out the door with her dog.

* * *

He parked the car and sighed, putting a hand on the steering wheel, trying to decide whether to get out or stay in the car. He was tired. Lethargic. He did not want to move. His mind was always working. His heart was always aching for Isabelle. But he'd never find her, not unless he had a trace of her.

He looked out his window and that's when he saw her.

She was walking with a dog on a leash by her side. She'd cut her hair, wore different clothes, and she looked happy. She walked with the dog through the slim black barred gates of the park and took off his leash. She even laughed like Isabelle.

She threw a ball for the dog, and Scarecrow – Jonathan – had the most violent reaction inside of him with an outwardly cool exterior.

How _dare _she? How _dare _she leave him? How _dare _she make herself so hard to find, and then live right under his nose all along? How _dare _she laugh like that, and be happy, without him? How _dare _she be out with a dog, with a smile like that on her face that _he _didn't put there? How dare she be happy with that dog, whereas she had been _unhappy _with _him_!

Jonathan abruptly stopped.

She had a dog – it brought a family to his mind. Did she have a boyfriend? Did she have a husband waiting at home? Did she have a husband and a dog that she went home with and they all had dinner together and sat by a fire laughing at what was on television?

He had to know.


	33. Chapter 33

Isabelle played with her dog for half an hour, the whole while feeling that creepy feeling of eyes on her, yet she didn't pay any attention to it. She thought it was her imagination. She knelt down as Fluffy brought the ball over and she stroked him all over excitedly, telling him what a good boy he was, stroking his face.

She stood up, deciding to cut their fun short so as to escape the eyes.

"C'mon boy, let's go," She put his leash back on then she led him out of the park and to her car, practically pushing her dog in when he wasn't fast enough because of the tension she had in her back and driving away.

* * *

The bullying got bad one day. They smashed her book and pushed her over, grass stains on her dress and a rock ripping it. They'd laughed at her.

The boy, Jervay, left her alone after that.

* * *

Isabelle went to work, feeling that creeped out feeling, although it was mild. The tension only eased when she was inside of the building, but it lingered with her for the rest of the day in the back of her mind. She went home and greeted her dog, Fluffy, with enthusiasm and they cuddled on the sofa as she caught up on her favorite TV show.

* * *

He waited until she'd gone to the park before he broke into her apartment. It was simple, really.

He looked around her apartment. Her furniture, her clothes. No pictures.

He sighed. Simply to be in the dwelling of where his love rested from the living in the jungle called Gotham, for who knows how long, was both reassuring and exciting.

* * *

Isabelle came home and sighed, pulling off her beanie. She'd never get used to Gotham's cold weather – which was mostly a constant.

She walked into her apartment and had a shower. When she came out and opened her medicine cabinet for her deodorant, something was off. She applied her deodorant and shut the cabinet. She turned around and looked about her room. Something was off. Something was missing.

She couldn't quite place it.

It was only as she started getting dressed did it come to her on the tip of her tongue.

Then when she got into bed for the night, only then did it click.


	34. Chapter 34

Thank you for my reviewers, alerters and favoriters. The reviews made me smile.

* * *

Isabelle walked down the road, coming out of the building with a smile on her lips and a laugh coming out of her mouth.

"And then, he had to walk around wearin' it for a week." Smiled the guy who walked out with her. He was Asian with slightly curly, long hair.

"Oh dear," smiled Isabelle, hands in her pockets and looking at the concrete as she walked.

"So, uh, anyway, I gotta go this way. See ya around?" She looked up at Charlie.

"Sure, Charlie. See you around. Have a good weekend," She past him and walked to her car. Charlie worked in the same floor was her, and he was very nice. She liked to talk to him. Not about things that mattered to her, but he was always fun to talk to and amusing.

"Oh, Ruth!" She heard behind her with footsteps running and a sneaker sole hitting the pavement before she turned around. "You dropped your scarf," He held out the blue material with yellow and brown butterflies on it and she laughed.

"Thank you, Charlie. I didn't see that. Thank God. Have a good weekend,"

"Bye," He raised his hand and left with a smile, Isabelle walking on while putting on her scarf.

She was used to the name Ruth now, she responded to both names – Ruth and Isabelle. Her mother called her Isabelle over the phone, and she was Ruth at her workplace and with her 'friends', although to her they were acquaintances that she talked with often. Her mother had moved back to Georgia – the country, but she was prohibited from the towns she had lived in before, had connections and was known as 'Sally'.

Isabelle toyed with the idea every now and then when she was feeling good of going back to Georgia herself, just to have some familiarity. But she wasn't sure she was ready yet.

She thought about Steve and her mother, who hadn't had any contact and felt sad for the two of them. They really made each other happy and it was a shame they had to part. She had a feeling it would work out though, if it was meant to be.

* * *

Isabelle got home and the first thing she did was search for her missing item. She'd searched for it briefly in the morning but she had to go to work.

"C'mon Fluffy, help me find it, where is it, boy?" She ducked and looked under the couch, around the coffee table, she went into her kitchen and even though it was a bizarre place to look looked anyway. She must have misplaced it somewhere. It was so odd, all of it.

Maybe it had been a burglar, she thought, it wasn't odd in Gotham, but her windows were sealed shut with no signs of a break in and her lock had worked fine. There hadn't been any marks to signal a break in as had happened to her friend. But surely, if it was a break in, they would have at least taken the TV – the only item of real value in her apartment?

"It must be the gremlins," She said out loud after checking through Fluffy's mass of thick blankets where his toys sometimes burrowed into and didn't see the light of day anymore. "They take socks, they can take other things."

* * *

"Even lipstick?" Her mother asked doubtfully over the phone.

"You never know."

"Honey, I think you lost it."

Isabelle shook her head as she drove, raising a hand upturnedly.

"Mother, I'm a grown woman now, okay? I think I misplaced it, but I can find it on my own."

Her mother sighed over the phone.

"I know, honey, but I still remember you as a little toddler. Do you remember when I took you to that new Toys R Us in town?"

"Yes, I remember, mother," said Isabelle as she turned left. "Anyway, I have to go. I'm taking Fluffy to the vet. Talk to you soon,"

"Okay, honey. Love you,"

"Love you," She disconnected the phone.

The lipstick hadn't been terribly important to her, she'd worn it once when she went out with her friends on her therapists' suggested social night out, and had used it once or twice before hand for interviews in getting her job. It had been left out, stark, in her medicine cabinet forever, being the only piece of makeup she owned, so she'd noticed immediately that something was missing when she opened up her cabinet. However, since the lipstick wasn't terribly important to her, she couldn't place it until much later. Still, she didn't like anything misplaced in her apartment, and sought to find it so she could put it back.

Besides, who would come in and just steal lipstick? A woman burglar? But then why wouldn't she take her clothes, or those expensive heels that were a Christmas present from her mother, 'for all the boys you'll meet' she said, which was ridiculous, because why would she give red high heels to all the boys she met? Isabelle laughed to herself at her own joke. She was bad at jokes. If it wasn't the heels, which were right at the back of her closet, or her dresses, her box of jewelry, or even her underwear, why the lipstick? It just didn't make sense.


	35. Chapter 35

He didn't know he'd taken it until it was in his hand and he was outside in his car already. He looked down at the red and purple tube in his pale hand. Why did he take it?

He had no attachment to a tube of lipstick. He'd opened up the medicine cabinet and he saw it among other bare, essential items. But it was _hers, _and when he opened it up, he saw she'd worn it. Her lips had caressed the stick of makeup, right here in front of him. And she had _worn _it, for another man? For that Charlie?

This was ridiculous. He'd kidnapped her, she'd escaped, and moved on with her life. He didn't have any say in her life or on who she dated, yet that didn't stop the anger in his gut and the growling in the back of his mind.

Oh dear. He knew this feeling. His anger allowed him to recognize the familiar feeling that he'd once felt for three years, when he and Scarecrow planned to take Isabelle away for themselves. He realized it had begun again when he saw her at the park, he was only aware of it now. It had started up again the moment he saw her, his mind planning on how to get her back. She was theirs.

He finished admiring the tube of lipstick in his hands and closed the lid, putting the item a female wore to draw male attention into his black blazer pocket. He was looking up from his car window to a specific apartment. He'd be back. He just knew it. He couldn't stay away, even if he wanted to, and he didn't. Isabelle was his. Isabelle was Scarecrow's. And now that he'd found her, he'd hunt her down until she was his again, in his arms, under his roof, talking to him and looking at him again. Even though she didn't smile much, smiling at him again was also part of both their minds, and their unified plan.

He just stayed there, looking up at the apartment window. Jonathan knew they had to leave before he looked suspicious, but Scarecrow was riveted in his body and would not let him leave.

'_We can visit her.' _Jonathan said. _'It'd be dangerous, and risky, but we can visit her.'_

His limbs came to life again, under his control at the promise and Scarecrow released his body back over. Jonathan started the car and drove down the road.

He sighed. He'd been watching her, stalking her, just so that he could know her habits, know more about her, see if she changed and that was more than likely if she viewed staying with him as traumatic. Also, young women, as he understood having a Masters in Psychology, tended to go through more rapid periods of change. He was excited to see that his Isabelle had changed and yet, had not. He was excited to see that she had grown up, matured.

She'd come back quicker than he realized, when he had been in her apartment. Had an hour really gone that quickly? He saw her car from her own window, and had to leave immediately. He hadn't really done a thorough search of her apartment, but he remembered the whole thing being a sensory experience – everything belonged to and used by the one he would keep by his side forevermore was just tantalizing, he'd had to take in everything.

And now, he had to go back to finish the job. He _had _to. Know everything about her. See her, see how she's changed. See everything she called hers, dissect her behaviors and mental state from it, so he'd know how she is. He'd know what kind of a person, a woman, she was now. He'd return to her apartment.

'_**And see her face while we're at it'**_

_Scarecrow, no. We'll get caught if she's there.  
_

_**Is that really so bad? Just for a glimpse of her face close up. We've been watching her Johnny, but we haven't **__**seen**__** her. Haven't seen her face, up close.**_

It had been so long.

Images filled his head and his hands tightened on the steering wheel and Jonathan sped up driving home.


	36. Chapter 36

As Jonathan drove, the troubling thought that she'd found her stay with him traumatic came back into his mind.

There was silence in his head as he thought.

Well, he'd just have to give her an offer she couldn't refuse.

* * *

"Are you a good boy? Who's a good, healthy boy?" Isabelle said as she walked out the vet's door, rubbing her dog's face and giving him a treat.

* * *

Shaking, he put the tube of lipstick on his desk.

* * *

It'd been a week, and Isabelle would periodically feel the intense feeling of being stared at, at nowhere. Subways, restaurants – the only place she didn't feel it as bad was her home. She'd been feeling the stare for about two weeks, but it had gotten more intense only recently in the last few days.

She rubbed her face as she entered her apartment, wondering why, and dumped her keys in the key bowl after locking her door.

"Fluffy, I'm home," She murmured, going straight to her bedroom to change.

After taking off her scarf and coat in her room and dumping it on the bed, she took off her beanie then her shoes.

She took off her shirt, then her jeans.

And lastly, her underwear, before she showered.

She came out of the shower. She opened her medicine cabinet and applied her deodorant.

She walked out her bathroom and got changed. She pulled on her robe ontop of her winter pajamas and put on her slippers. She lit some candles about her room, Fluffy trotting in to go to his bed at the end of hers.

"It's okay, Fluffy," He whined. "What's the matter?" He seemed down, mopey. She drew her eyebrows together and got into bed for an early night's sleep.

* * *

Hands, they were on her. They were slowly feeling her, touching her, in non-intimate areas. They were everywhere, it seemed, to her sleep addled brain. The dream felt nice, familiar and yet not, and she never wanted it to go away.

* * *

Thank you for the reviews, alerts and favorites :)


	37. Chapter 37

Isabelle had always been plagued with thoughts that Jonathan would come after her again, find her and hurt her. Exact revenge. Every day was living in waking fear of whether or not he would find her again that day, tomorrow, maybe next week. But it hadn't happened, thankfully. And it had been a year. The thoughts faded on their own as she got absorbed by her work and deadlines – thankfully.

After all, they hadn't exactly had closure, had they? She escaped, he didn't want her to – she'd constantly had thoughts he would come after her and abduct her again. It faded after some time. But the recent feeling of being watched re-ignited those thoughts. She constantly worried that it was Crane. Of course, it was ridiculous. It was a very slim chance it would be him. First of all, she was difficult to find thanks to her identity change and her relocation. Sure, he lived in the same city, but he lived near Gotham University which was on the other side of town. At least, that's where he'd lived a year ago. It was so hard to believe it had only been a year since she'd been abducted. But he hadn't come after her.

But that's what she was scared of. Jonathan was tricky and he was clever, if he wanted her gone and out the way he would not only do it, but find the most painful way to do it. The time of silence could just be him abiding his time. She was scared, because she didn't want to view him in that way. She didn't want to see Jonathan, her long time companion to her lone wolf pack, as someone who wanted to come after her and kill her. Take revenge for leaving him, deserting him, attacking him, take your pick. Who _knew _what went on in his head.

She didn't want to be hurt by her friend. She wanted to be in harmony with him, after all he was the only person who gave her comfort, yet she couldn't because of all the madness he'd started. God, she had missed him so much. She was so lonely, in the big city, all alone in a place so large when she was from a town so small. He'd gone through this no doubt, he would know what she was going through and know the things that could help her. She'd contemplated finding him, many times, so she could have some decent conversation, comfort, and familiarity. But the fact he'd kidnapped her overrode those thoughts and she never acted on it throughout the year she spent in Gotham.

But she contemplated going back to Georgia. Her mother did it, and she seemed much happier there, even if it was in a new town. Sally had been allowed to keep her business, thankfully. Even though her clients knew her as Sally, she told everyone Sally had sold the business to her because she wanted to retire, and there was Gertrude in her place. Things were far less personal now that the business was bigger. Sally, or Gertrude, couldn't supervise every job. If Isabelle went back to Georgia, she wouldn't feel so alone in the world, and she'd be around the open plains, barns, animals, and the fields. She'd probably have to do some mental work to ease her anxiety and fear of abduction again, but if she lived in another town it wouldn't be so bad, right?

* * *

He looked around her apartment. He went straight for her bedroom, opening the white door slowly, his heart beating in his chest. Even though he knew she was out, he'd been watching, it still didn't stop the fear and adrenaline, that she'd be here or come back.

He looked around. A desk of papers, drawings, designs, and a space where a laptop maybe rested when she brought it home with her, a door to a bathroom, he checked again. Ah yes, he remembered now, he'd stroked her turquoise hand towel, which had patted her face dry in the mornings, when he opened her medicine cabinet and found the lipstick.

Her bed. It now had turquoise sheets and pillow cases and he walked stiffly over to it. He opened her wardrobe, built into the wall with a sliding door. He found a rack of clothes, a dresser with folded clothes, and boxes on the top shelf with no labels. How he'd love to go through it, but he didn't know when she'd be back. He began closing the sliding door when something shiny caught his eye. He looked back into the wardrobe, the door sliding open a little in his hand, and his blue eye caught sight of red vinyl high heels, sitting in the corner at the back behind other everyday shoes.


	38. Chapter 38

Hands, they were on her. Now they were feverish. Now they were intense. Now they were possessive. She mewled in her sleep. Lips skimmed her neck. She'd woken up the last time feeling more comforted and relaxed than she ever had in Gotham. When she woke up this next morning, she was shaky and a pool of heat lay in her gut.

* * *

He stared at the red vinyl heels. The place in his pocket where the lipstick had rested burned. He'd carried it around with him, in his blazer pocket, to work. In his office, he'd check it was there. He'd sometimes take it out and look at it. He'd been unable to part with it, keep it in his house like he intended. He'd been so used to the familiar weight, that now when he checked if it was there, he remembered he had left it at home on purpose for this trip. He didn't want to lose it. But the place where he had kept it burned. His blue eyes glowed.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and closed the closet.

* * *

He was heated, intense, possessive. Scarecrow was in her neck, kissing and biting.

_Don't mark her yet. It'll be too obvious. She'll notice._

_**She'll notice, Johnny boy, and it'll be from **__**us**__**.**_

Jonathan shivered.

He didn't want to do this so roughly, which was a way she could wake up and they'd be caught, but he knew this had been building. He couldn't control Scarecrow, he could only unleash his other in one direction. And he wanted it as much as him.

_Mark her somewhere less visible, then. But she can still take notice._

Isabelle mewled.

Scarecrow nudged his nose into the back of her hair, an arm around her waist. Like the old times.

"That's right, Isabelle. My mistress. Sleep."

* * *

Isabelle got to her desk in the morning at Wayne Enterprises and felt something stiff on her shoulder. She rolled it reflexively. Maybe she'd slept on it funny.

As she sat down and got to work on the computer her shoulder still bothered her for the rest of the day.

* * *

It'd been too much. The lipstick. The high heels. The long absence.

Jonathan and Scarecrow _needed_ her attention. They needed her to know they were there, now.

* * *

Isabelle stared, deadpan, in the mirror at the bite mark on her shoulder. She turned and there on her back was a notable hickey right where the band of her bra would go across her back.

What. The heck.

* * *

She'd been making toast when the smoke set her fire alarm off. She practically back flipped off of her couch in fright to get to the alarm. She ran to find it by her front door and clicked the button, had to do it twice before it listened and silence came back to her apartment.

Her landlord was knocking on the door a few short minutes later.

"Yes Mrs. McTipsky, I know, I'm sorry for the noise. I was just making toast when the fire alarm went off. It won't happen again."

"Well it better not," replied her landlord. "You've been good, Dale, I haven't heard a peep from you. Better not happen again,"

"Yes, Mrs. McTipsky, I'm very sorry for interrupting your Sunday."

Mrs. McTipsky straightened, appeased, and nodded with her nose in the air, pulling her floral gown further around her love handles.

Isabelle smiled before closing the door,

"Enjoy the rest of your Sunday,"

* * *

Was the lipstick burglar back? No, that didn't make sense.

And if anyone got into the house, why didn't Fluffy bark? That didn't make sense. If there had been anyone with her at night, Fluffy would have driven them out. He barked when strangers came up to her in the park, mostly men, so he would definitely drive out someone in their own apartment. So it couldn't have been a person. Did she suck on her own shoulder in her sleep? And there was no way she could have reached around to bite herself on her back at that angle. Her dog definitely didn't do it. Did she have some sort of Fugue episode and made out with someone in a night club or something? So far, that was the only explanation that seemed the most likely.

And her lipstick was still gone. She gave up on that one.


	39. Chapter 39

Thank you Akemi Tatsuyoshi for telling me about the grammatical errors, I went back and changed them. On Word it didn't come up in a red line.

Thank you for the praise in your reviews :)

* * *

Jonathan left her apartment after placing his gift and locked it, smoothly placing the key in his pocket. He turned to make for the stairs, briefcase in hand, and smiled at the landlord who was staring at him before he went down the stairs.

* * *

"_Somebody _had some fun last night," remarked her co-worker, Susan, as she rounded around her cubicle and posed there at the doorway. Isabelle swiveled on her seat curiously to face her with,

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb! We can see that mark on your neck, you know!"

"Drat."

"So come on," cooed Susan, swirling a strand of curly blonde hair around her finger, smiling with red lips and looking at her through her thin blue glasses. "Who is it?"

"Oh, no one."

Susan sighed heavily.

"It's _always _no one." Susan walked in and perched on her desk in her pencil skirt. "Come on, is it Charlie?" Isabelle looked at her while moving a paper, then looked back unfathomably at her work. "You know he's always had the hots for you, you know. Ever since you began working here." Great, she'd had to avoid him now. Now that her suspicions were confirmed. Susan waved at a co-worker who passed by the cubicle.

"It's not Charlie." Responded Isabelle stoically while clicking something on the computer.

"Then _dish_! Who?"

"I said, no one."

"Gah, the mistress will not speak,"

Isabelle blinked at the wording and looked up at Susan when she stood like it couldn't be helped. She winked.

"See ya around, charmer,"

* * *

"I don't know, Mum, I was just thinking about it," Isabelle said as she climbed her stairs, her phone on her shoulder. "It's just an idea, I'm not definitely moving back." She fiddled around with her keys to find the right one, which she usually had ready by the time she made it up the flights of stairs because she was a perfectionist and liked to plan ahead. But because she was talking to her mother she was a bit preoccupied. She found the right one and was just putting the key in when she heard Mrs. Tipsky's door close.

"Hah, I caught your boyfriend sneaking out earlier,"

Isabelle didn't think she was talking to her, she didn't have a boyfriend, so she turned the key and was about to open the door.

"Ms. Dale,"

Isabelle turned around, taking her phone off her shoulder for a second.

"Oh, I didn't think you were talking to me, sorry." She said honestly.

"Ah it's alright, Dale," Her landlord waved it off. "Just remember to keep the noise down when he comes around,"

Isabelle stood completely dumbfounded as Mrs. Tipsky closed her door.


	40. Chapter 40

Fluffy was a rescue dog. He didn't like squeaky doors. Isabelle had to oil all her doors when she brought him back to her apartment, because she noticed every time she moved the door and it squeaked he would lower himself to the floor, or cower. Since she oiled them he'd been right as rain.

Isabelle stared at her dog who was lying in his dog bed with pursed lips. He looked up at her with his big brown eyes then looked away. Something was off. Fluffy had been… quiet, as of the last two or three days. Nothing felt wrong, but she could sense something was off.

"I'm sorry, boy, I don't socialize you enough. Do you want to go park?"

He snapped his head up.

"Do you want to go park?" She repeated. He knew the word 'park', and her tone of voice when she said that specific sentence.

He hummed and shot up, running to the door. She laughed and followed him, going to get his lead.

As she walked past the kitchen counter top she saw something in the corner of her eye and her joyful face moved into a blank one.

On her kitchen counter was a small gift bag, the kind you would give something small to to relatives for Christmas. She'd seen it when she came in from work, but she hadn't opened it yet. She simply picked it up and moved it to her kitchen counter.

She picked up her gloves from next to the gift, and peeked inside the vanilla yellow box.

Fluffy barked from the front door and she realized she should probably take him out or he'll go to the toilet in her apartment. They'd had a few accidents and the smell had been horrible, because she hadn't been diligent in taking him out. She left the box on the counter and drove Fluffy to the park.

"Boy you're getting too fit and too fast for this game," She said as she picked the dark blue ball from his mouth and throwing it again.

Isabelle came home and she knew something was off. Her door banged open because she had been too zealous with it and getting Fluffy inside. But the hound ran in with his tail wagging, going straight to the couch and curling up like a big brown bean on the black sofa.

Isabelle, however, remained at the doorframe. She wasn't sure about going inside. But if Fluffy ran in, then really, it was safe, right?

Isabelle came into her apartment and shut the door. When she turned around, he was there.

He was standing there, like a vision or a ghost from her dreams, by her black couch and looking as unchanged as the day he'd abducted her. He was just standing there, looking at her. She blinked and wondered if she was imagining it. Their eye contact was fierce, but broke when Fluffy got up from the couch and jogged over to Jonathan. The psychiatrist bent down and stroked the canine. Fluffy sat, mouth open, tongue out, like they'd known each other forever.

He stood up and smiled at her.

"You're back."

_Oh my god, he's real? _She thought to herself. _This isn't a dream?_

"You look pale," He said kindly, coming forward with his hands out. She sidestepped so she was behind the TV, surprising herself in that she could actually move. He stopped, then chuckled hesitantly and adjusted his glasses.

"Well, if you would like to take a seat, I made tea."

He turned and disappeared into her kitchen, and she stood there behind the TV wondering if this was some sort of joke. She looked at Fluffy like he was some sort of conspirator.

She edged her way into the living room, hearing the clinking of her silverwear, and looked around for a weapon. She had the remote. The TV, if she could chuck it. Her eyes found the door. She could run. But then what would he do to Fluffy? She couldn't leave him with Jonathan.

Her eyes snapped away from the door when he came back into the living room with two mugs of tea. He smiled easily at her and set them down on the coffee table, sitting next to Fluffy's blankets and the said canine jumped up on them, turning in a circle once, and settled down.

She looked at Jonathan. And Jonathan looked at her.

He motioned to the opposite couch.

"Please, I insist."

For some bizarre reason as to not offend him, Isabelle glided forward and took a seat on the black couch, not really liking how close she was to him, discreetly pulling up the collar of her shirt more so he wouldn't see the hickey. When someone grabbed her, he flipped out. Imagine if he knew someone put a hickey on her?

Jonathan saw her move, nothing escaped his intense attention, and felt a little smug on the inside that she thought she could hide his own work from him. Yet, at the same time, her secretiveness of it brought him anger, for that she would dare hide what he gave her. His love bite. _Love _bite.

He leaned forward and gently gave her her tea, not missing how she gasped a little and leaned back. He sighed with a chuckle of 'well that's to be expected' and sat back, just looking at her. She was a radiant vision. She'd truly grown more beautiful as time went on.

"How have you been?"

He asked.

She stared down at the cup of tea in her hands.

"How did you find me?"

He smiled easily,

"I have my ways."

She slowly, and with difficulty, drew her eyes up to meet his and held them. It was very hard for her to do so. Her hand was shaking. When she realized it was shaking she broke the stare and looked back down at her shaking cup, putting it down and trying to get her brain to work again.

"Did you like my gift?" He asked.

She looked up at him more easily now, now that her brain had started thinking again, processing his question. But her mouth wasn't working.

He looked in the direction of her kitchen counter and she followed, realizing what he was talking about.

"I see you received it. Maybe you have not opened it?" He seemed to have thought out loud and he got up, closing his blazer before he made his way around the couch and disappearing. Isabelle had a split second to mouth an incredulous '_what' _about the whole situation before he came back. In one finger, the shiny, fine material of the strings that the bag dangled from.

Her eyes were on it the entire way over and he placed it in front of her before seating himself, staring at her for her reaction.

The bag, with its warmth reminded her of summer, of summer sun and the breeze. It looked beautiful, pretty, dainty. The colour was vanilla with a pretty light brown accent colour.

She looked up at him.

"You haven't opened it."

"…Had no time." She replied, finding it strange how the conversation was so innocent and easy.

He seemed to shrug it off instead of take offence.

"Well, there's no time like the present,"

She picked up the bag into her lap, and truly, she felt like it was Christmas that she didn't celebrate this year and reached into the bag, hearing it crinkle at the invasiveness. What she found was her own lipstick, the tube she'd lost, and a small figurine of a dove – no, not a figurine, a key chain.

She looked up at him. Lipstick thief.

It took a split second for Isabelle to realize she had said that out loud, and her surprise was comical.

"Call it an expression of goodwill." He said with an amused little smirk. "A truce. Well, the dove is. The lipstick is for you."

"Yes, it's mine." She said before she could think. Oh dear. Whenever she stopped thinking of her manners her blunt ways came back. One day she would offend him. She knew it. She just hoped it wasn't now.

But he smiled. He looked just like the man she admired and had always had warm feelings towards.

"Quite. But, I had it, then I thought, how terribly rude of me. I must return to her what belongs to her."

"…Well, Jonathan, Scarecrow…" She didn't know how to finish her sentence, she just knew she had to address the both of them. "I hope you've been well." She said eventually.

His eyes glowed and they trailed over the shoulder where her bite mark was. So he knew about it then.

Isabelle kind of already knew he put it there, she just didn't want to conclude it in her head without evidence. She inwardly sighed.

"Thank you for the tea. But you must be going." She made a show of putting down the bag by the tea and standing up, dusting off non-existent debris and standing, feeling hot in the coat, beanie and gloves that she hadn't taken off because she'd forgotten.

Jonathan realized he'd been obvious and reigned Scarecrow back. It wasn't like they had her yet. It's not like they could do what they wanted with her yet.

"Well, the tea has been pleasant. But won't you give me a tour of your lovely home?"

"What interest does my home have to you?" She looked him up and down. "Possessing a Masters in Psychology would mean you could probably just learn more about me by looking around."

Well that hadn't been enough now, had it? He'd had to see her, too. He couldn't restrain himself anymore.

But he couldn't just leave now, he'd only just got here. He had to extend how long he could see her.

"How is your job?"

"Just fine. I'm sure you know all about it." He did. "You've stalked me."

"I don't know what you mean."

"Been following me. Or had me followed."

"Now why, dear Isabelle, would I have someone else follow you when I could just do it myself?"

* * *

Isabelle grew up with a mother who invested in feminine things for her. Isabelle had never been able to shake it. She did it for herself too. She bought a lovely comb for herself, a beautiful vanity dresser with a mirror that she could sit at and comb her hair like her mother would do for her when she was young, only she could do for herself now. On her desk was no makeup, but rather some fine pieces of jewelry that were not expensive, but looked that way, and a figurine of a pretty geisha wearing expensive deep blue fabrics and possessed long black hair. Isabelle fantasized that her geisha was the most beautiful woman in all the land, and that whenever Isabelle did her hair by the mirror, it rubbed off on her. Just being in her presence when she combed her hair made her beautiful.

* * *

Silence reigned between them. They stared at one another in the eyes. She'd always been able to meet his stare – something he found mildly annoying yet he received a great amount of pleasure from it as well. Not many were able to meet his stare – but she had. Always had.

"Just leave." She commanded lowly.

He stood up and smiled at her. She should have slapped him.

He took a step forward and she immediately took a step back in fright. Immediately a frown came to his face. That was not the Isabelle he remembered. No, no – no no no no this wasn't the way it was supposed to be. She wasn't supposed to be afraid of _him, _no. Not Isabelle. She was above that – she was his now. She was above things such as fear.

"Perhaps I was not clear when I said 'truce'," He bit out, trying to reign in his anger and disappointment, his feelings of rejection. He swallowed thickly. "The purpose of my coming here today is to tell you I mean you no harm,"

"Okay, great, just go," She didn't care for anything he said. Gosh she loved him with all her heart but right now he needed to go, so she would be safe and Fluffy would be safe. Nothing he said mattered and she had a focus like a tractor beam.

He licked his lips and took off his glasses, glowing blue eyes staring into her brown ones.

"Isabelle," He said more focusedly. "I mean. You. No. Harm."

She read his eyes and her instincts said he was telling the truth. Also, if Fluffy was at ease around him then he really wasn't going to hurt her.

"Okay." She said softly. He seemed to relax slightly.

She probably needed space to process all of this. After all, he wanted to get into her good graces. Jonathan put on his glasses and then walked to the exit.

"I'll be taking my leave then, have a good day."

He unlocked then opened her door, stopping.

"I believe there was one extra thing in the box you didn't see," He said in his quiet voice before smiling at her then closing the door behind him.

She wondered how he got into her house and that's when she heard her own door lock from outside. He had a key? So Ms. Tipsky had been talking about her door in the end.


	41. Chapter 41

Scarecrow was chiding Jonathan as they walked down the staircase.

_**You didn't get it!**_

_I couldn't. I had to give her space. If we want her to trust us again, or even just feel safe around us, she needs time to process this._

_**You said –**_

_I know what I said. But now's not the time._

Both their minds went to the thing they swiped instead, and he heard a purr in the back of his mind while Jonathan felt warmth in his chest and lust in his gut as he arrived at his car. He unlocked it and got in, putting his briefcase on the passenger seat, and sparing a glance to her apartment window once before he drove away.

* * *

Jonathan was an intellectual creature, not a sexual one. So the feelings she inspired in him were both alien and scary – yet simultaneously, exciting.

Seeing her up close sated some part of him, and yet, made it grow more.

Although he'd gotten a substitute for what he really wanted, he knew he would be back tonight to sate himself. To have his fill of her. To be by her side, in her scent, feeling her skin, tasting it, hearing her mewls, touching her clothes, all for now, in non-intimate areas. But being able to hold her, kiss her skin and press himself against her filled him up in a way nothing else did.

* * *

The creature came back that night. She was slightly awake from the abyss of sleep as she felt a tongue lick up her neck and she moaned. Hands on her, they were gentle and yet firm. They found all the soft places on her body and even though he didn't touch anything sexual, he turned her into a pile of goo.

Jonathan stole a kiss, and shuddered as he pulled away. He held her to him after his fill, the two of them somehow bonded. More connected than ever before.

He hummed into her hair.

"Isabelle…" He breathed out. The woman who held his heart – his everything. He just stared at her sleeping form the rest of the time. He moved some of her hair with his fingertips. She was so beautiful.

He left before sunrise so she wouldn't know he was there.

* * *

Isabelle turned around and stared at the gift on the table. She walked over to it and looked inside what she thought was an empty gift bag, but she saw a slip of paper against the side of the inside. When she picked up the box to inspect it she realized it could easily be disguised against the wall of the box but had come loose. She pulled out the flimsy bit of paper and read the beautiful cursive writing in black ink.

_**I'll bring it back**_

Isabelle stormed into her room, her bedroom door banging open before she slammed it shut and looked through all her clothes like she'd lost something. Isabelle was a perfectionist so she knew all of her clothes. So far, everything was in its place. Her vanity mirror was left untouched, so was her work. Her bed was fine. She went back to her clothes, having a feeling that was the area then went to her underwear drawer. Didn't men keep trophies, or something? But she had all her bras and underwear. She looked through her individual dresses – she had mixed feelings about them because they were what she was wearing when she was kidnapped, but also they were all that was familiar to her and had all the memories of her childhood in them – and stopped when she realized one of them was missing.

* * *

A whisper, a voice, descending near her ear. He came closer to her.

"It's time, love." He said huskily. "Tonight's the night." His hand, wrist wrapped in a watch, came into the moonlight filtering in from her window to grasp the soft skin of her upper arm. His face was in the dark, but his blue eyes were glowing.


	42. Chapter 42

Isabelle walked down the road and into the building lavishly labeled 'Wayne Enterprises', looking over her shoulder as she did so. Gosh she was so paranoid these days.

'_I'll bring it back' _kept playing in her mind over and over. Was that today? In a week? In a month? Never?

Her dreams had been driving her crazy.

Isabelle took the elevator and then walked out onto her floor, smiling at coworkers before she went to take her seat at her cubicle. She'd gotten more attention around here as of late since the hickey, which had _not _gone away by the way. It was as if it reminded them she was a sexual creature, and that she was a human being and that she existed. She'd been content to give everyone the cold shoulder, not socializing with anyone, not being warm or friendly because then that meant less demands on her time and she could do what she wanted – work. People got the hint eventually. People actually forgot she existed, which suited her fine. She'd always been alone and she preferred it that way. She didn't want friends, she found the endless obligations and contradicting rules exhausting.

But since everyone saw the hickey, which was inevitable really even though she tried to cover it up, people seemed to somehow have hawk eyes for other people's business, she'd been getting suddenly tons of attention. People came up to her and talked to her, girls tried to make work buddy friends with her which she was entirely uninterested in, and then there were the men. Charlie had been a buddy, sure he may fancy her but she'd distanced herself after she realized it. They seemed to take notice that she was a woman and that she had curves. They'd noticed when she began working but when she showed her cold, 'prudish' nature, they couldn't see past her cold exterior. Now that they were reminded that she existed and that she was a woman, people stared at her whenever she got up from her cubicle and she could hear conversation shushing when she walked past.

Isabelle was extremely annoyed at the whole situation. She'd been happy in the background, unseen, unnoticed. She'd been _happy. _She'd been _content. _She could get on with her own life without others meddling with her. Now they wanted to be all up in her business which they had no business to be in.

Not that there _was _any business to be in, no social life or a boyfriend. She was considered extremely boring to most people.

But she deliberately did things so that she would _not _attract attention. She wore clothes that were flattering but boring, or detracted from her figure while still looking professional, on purpose. So that she would not draw eyes. So that she would not draw attention.

She was infuriated that she had somehow drawn the attention of Dr. Jonathan Crane, and since then she'd been trying to keep all attention away from her. Maybe, inwardly, so that he would not find her again, if no one knew she existed. Maybe a subconscious motive, in her drawing everyone's eyes away, she imagined them to be Jonathan's. Their interest was his interest. Their eyes were his eyes. When she caught his attention he had to have her and stowed her away somewhere when she thought she was on a harmless vacation with him. So she definitely had feelings that wanted to keep all attention away from her since.

* * *

She still felt his touches at night. During the day, she would feel his hands on her still. His eyes. His kiss to her neck. She could somehow feel them both there – Scarecrow and Jonathan. How odd it was that they were both one yet distinct. She would never be able to understand it. Yet he was the Psychology Professor – or, he had been. Maybe he wasn't anymore.

* * *

She'd never done this before. But her fingers were typing into Google before she could realize it. She was at her home, on her laptop, and the black letters typed onto the screen before she clicked 'go' were 'dr. jonathan crane'.

She read the news articles, of his firing from Gotham University because of unethical experiments on the students, and then his job as Head of Arkham Aslyum. There was a picture of his ceremony, a brief background on his education and then his extensive experience and expertise in dealing with the mind that afforded him this position. It included an honorable quote from him as he accepted the position, but not much more on Jonathan.

_Head of Arkham, _She thought. _That's in the Narrows. Why would someone like that live in, or near the Narrows?_

Clean, sharp business suit, neat hair and appearance. What kind of a person like that lived in the Narrows?

She clicked out of google and finished up her project for the night.

* * *

She closed her laptop well after it was dark outside and got up to shut the curtains in her bedroom before going out and doing the same in the living room. The TV was on low and Fluffy was watching it on the sofa. He looked up when she came in and she smiled at that he had been watching TV.

With the curtains shut Isabelle went about making herself dinner, having forgone it in favor of getting her work done in one sitting. She didn't like breaking things up, rather doing them for one long, intense period. She went into the fridge and pulled out some leftovers from last night, put it into a bowl and heated it up. While she was waiting for the microwave, she went out and turned on the lamp in the living room to light the dark space since she hadn't because she was working and there was no one else to do it.

The microwave dinged and she walked over and took the leftovers out, putting a spoon into the bowl.

Isabelle sighed as she sat down. She looked at Fluffy.

"You didn't mind him, did you? He can't mean any harm if _you _didn't bark."

Fluffy's eyes went back to the television.

* * *

Isabelle woke up with a start to find she was still sitting on her couch with her empty dinner bowl in her hand and the TV still on. Woah, she felt like she should be years ahead from where she was with how deeply she'd slept.

"Must have needed it," She stretched and tried to pat Fluffy, but he was gone. She heard the licking of his water from the kitchen and Isabelle yawned into her hand, getting up. As she walked past her door to go to the kitchen and return her bowl she saw something on the floor by her mailbox.

She paused and tracked back.

It was a A4 manila file, the size of paper. At first she thought it was from Jonathan, but then she thought it might have been from work or maybe her mother sent something. She reached down and picked it up, turning it over and her name was done in beautiful cursive writing in a black pen.

She heard a knock on her door.

* * *

His first meeting with her had to be perfect. But Jonathan thought long and hard about what came after that, too.

* * *

Isabelle looked through the peephole and saw it was a delivery boy in a blue uniform.

"Ms… Dale?" He read the name on the box he had. She sighed and opened the door.

"Thank you. Do I have to sign?" But he was already leaving,

"No, no, you don't," He replied to her, hopping down the stairs with his cap over his eyes.

When she turned around Fluffy had come over and he was sniffing the box in her hands but she pushed him away and went to set it on the coffee table and put the manila file next to it. She sat back on the couch and looked at it before her. It wasn't from her mother, or from work.

"I'm scared to open it," She said to Fluffy, and raised her hand to stroke his head.

But she was so curious.

Even if she wanted nothing from him, she was so insanely curious over what was inside the box.

The lid was light and easy to open. It sort of flipped open out of her hand onto the wood of the coffee table. Inside was an exquisite, obviously expensive, absolutely beautiful, black dress. When she picked up the shoulder straps and pulled it out it trailed to the floor. It was simple, but it was exquisite and elegant.

_**My mistress **_read the piece of paper in the manila folder. It was done in cursive writing just as was her name on the file. **_join me_**

Her hands were shaking as she drew the paper down, away from her face. She looked at the dress and her hand was inexplicably shaking as she folded it up and put it back in the box and she quickly and neatly stuffed the paper back into the manila folder. She picked it all up, carried it to her room, and stuffed it onto her shelf and closed the closet door.


	43. Chapter 43

Isabelle took lunch in her cubicle, holding a Tupperware of her home made salad in it, putting a sliced stick of cucumber in her mouth.

Join him? Join him for what? Was he going to take over the world or something?

Isabelle chewed quietly on a small stick of carrot as she looked at her computer screen on her half finished design in a computer program. She should be done by the end of the week, turn in her assignment by the end of the day, and then her part of the group project was done. She'd just have to talk to her supervisor about one thing. She put a circle of cucumber, which was in her salad along with the sticks, in her mouth and swiveled her chair to get up. She found her supervisor socializing with her co-workers, somebody else's supervisor and a manager and she walked up to them and asked her question. He said he'd wait until lunch was over before finding the answer for her so she went back to her cubicle and finished her salad, pretending she didn't hear the supervisor who called her name (Ruth) because he would ask her to stand with them and eat. She knew how it worked.

Isabelle exited through Wayne Enterprises front door and turned to walk down the sidewalk, seeing in the corner of her eye but ignoring a blue lamborgini pull up and Bruce Wayne come out of the doors behind her and get in the car, smoothing down his tie as he did so.

* * *

Isabelle pulled up her handbag more over her shoulder as she walked in the court hall. She found the right courtroom and peeked in to the public courtroom, edging in and taking a seat where there were not many people attending. It was a matter of less public significance. But Isabelle was watching the intern attorney to the district attorney, Rachael Dawes. She sat through only the last quarter of the case before it was finalized and the court adjourned.

Rachael Dawes pulled up her papers and put them into a file in her briefcase before she put it on her shoulder and picked up her coat.

"Ms. Dawes?" She heard, and saw a beautiful woman walk up to her from the benches. She had long brown hair, brown eyes and pale skin.

"Uh, hello," said Rachael hesitantly, not knowing who the woman was, pushing her chair in.

"I'm Ruth Fisher," She held out her hand. "I know our meeting is tomorrow but I wanted to meet you early to touch base."

"Oh! Ms. Fisher," Rachael shook her hand eagerly. "Yes, I was just reading up on the documents."

"Indeed," Ruth returned. "I didn't know you handled criminal cases," She said, referring to the case she was just in.

"Oh, I'm an intern. My specialty is going to be criminal justice but they put me on cases like yours to broaden my experience."

She must be very good to be an intern and put on criminal cases already, she thought.

"I see," She said politely, Rachael walking out of the thigh high swinging doors that marked the court from the audience and they walked out together.

"So I see your mother bought the business in 2011?"

"That's right, she won't be coming down because she lives out of state. But I'll be here in her stead."

"Wow. Must be exciting." Rachael smiled genuinely, referring to the business. Isabelle liked her. "I've always been a city girl. I don't know what it's like to be out in the country,"

"It's very different," Ruth smiled as they descended some marble steps and entered the main front court hall.

"I bet," Rachael laughed quietly.

"Anyway, I just drove out here to meet you before our actual meeting." She'd wanted to get a feel for who would be handling the legal documents of her mother's business.

They turned to one another and stopped.

"I see, well, I look forward to meeting you officially tomorrow, or, two days from now," Rachael nodded as she thought of the date.

Ruth nodded.

"Good to meet you. See you then." They shook hands and Ruth parted from her. Rachael smiled after her retreating form. It was nice to have polite clients, or even just meeting nice, polite people in general. It was so rare in the city.

As Isabelle walked out of the last group of stairs before the double doored exit, she unknowingly passed Jonathan Crane, who was walking in the opposite direction as her, and his face showed minor surprise. He was too far away for her to notice as she smartly walked past the security guard out the double front doors and into Gotham.

* * *

'_You look nice in those cross tights'_

She'd been getting these notes everywhere. This one was on her desk this morning when she arrived at 8am. She gasped at the fact it had now spread to her work – before it was just her home where she'd get these messages, at her mailbox, and the latest one on her pillow – and she looked around quickly before sitting down and reading the note again. She put it into her cardigan pocket and clenched and unclenched her legs. She was wearing a pair of those tights today. She wondered if he was watching right now, and decided to get on with her day. She opened up her laptop and turned it on.

Isabelle had had time to think about all of this. She'd analyzed many things. Now, Jonathan seemed to have some sort of fixation with her, and Scarecrow definitely did. Either way, they were both after her, and now that she knew it wasn't for revenge it made her relax significantly. He wanted her to join him somehow, but join him, in what? In dinner, a movie, in death? He was unspecific and the vagueness made her go over it over and over again in her head.

Now, he'd taken her lipstick. He'd definitely gone through her apartment. He'd taken nothing else, but that item, before the dress of course. Now lipstick connoted a woman vying for a man's attention – dressing up, looking good, being feminine or sexy for a man. And he took it? Now either that meant he somehow liked lipstick, which was improbable considering how well she knew Jonathan, or he wanted to take the chance of 'dressing up' for men away from her. Other men, to be more specific. It was all more evidence that supported Isabelle's instincts – he was possessive, which is why she always felt she should always take his affection and never anger him. And he viewed her as his, after all this time. It was not that she took his affection only for that reason – she liked his affection. She liked the attention he gave her and she liked it when he doted on her or touched her, when she was staying in that bunker. Even now, with the dress he gave her, she'd liked it, somehow, even though she was freaked out.

So the lipstick.

After the lipstick, a dress. It was one of her summer dresses, just an every day dress. She'd never had the chance to wear it in Gotham, because first of all there was no sun in the smoggy city, and it wasn't warm enough. She'd worn it around the house once when there had been an unexpected heatwave last summer, and when she took Fluffy to the park once.

She'd been surprised. If he'd take a dress, she expected it to be the silky cocktail dress that had been an expensive gift from her mother who wanted to lift her spirits for all the 'work meetings' she'd go to. Sally had the impression that her daughter, because she now lived in the city, would be going to lots of work parties and group gatherings and needed a maxi cocktail dress. Not so, but her mother said it was a going away present and to try to get her mind off of the abduction. Sally had also said that all women should have something special in their closet, and now that she was a woman she needed to have an item that she would always feel special wearing. Isabelle thought it was too sexist to make it a dress, so she had her scarf that she would feel special wearing every day. She thought that people were the most beautiful when they were natural, not when they were dolled up in some dress or suit. She shouldn't have to dress up to feel special.

But he'd taken just a simple, every day dress. Isabelle was only surprised because most men would have taken the cocktail dress, or a bra, or her underwear, or something as equally repulsive and disgusting. But he seemed different. And it was entirely in accordance with everything she knew about Jonathan.

Jonathan had always been an outcast, been different, been teased, much like herself only he exacerbated it by talking down to people while she was content to be ignored. He'd never been like other guys. He always had his own opinion and because of his own unique appearance, he'd never entirely been focused on others'. He'd fancied that girl, Sherri Squires, she remembered, and she was classically beautiful. Isabelle however was not classically beautiful, even if some people found her pretty.

At least, she thought, if he would take something as ordinary as her summer dress over something as ostentatious, although beautiful, as a cocktail dress, he must want her for more than sex, which was her next worry. What if he took her somewhere, because last time had been so easy, and just use her for sex? As Isabelle analyzed her thoughts she wondered if she really knew Jonathan. Jonathan was intellectual. He was not overtly sexual. He was understated and even, to most, although not to Isabelle, an acquired taste. Why would he suddenly be after her for sex? That didn't even make sense.

But if he wasn't after her for revenge, and he wasn't after her for sex, then he must … like her?

He'd told her before while they were in high school that she was the only person he tolerated enough to be around for excessive periods of time, and she felt the same way about him. She liked him, she always had, she was just full of conflicting feelings towards him because he'd abducted her. He'd always been the person she could go to when she wanted to talk about something and he'd always been the person that she thought of fondly without it changing – until he, kidnapped, her. But the warm feelings were like a cockroach, and managed to survive the atom bomb of her abduction.

Isabelle closed her laptop for the day and left her cubicle. Oh well. No one could fight their feelings, so she may as well accept them even if she wasn't going to act on them and they weren't going to go anywhere anyway.

She saw him as a companion. Not exactly a friend, because that would imply she saw him as a surface friend. A companion was deeper than that. She knew he was the one person in the world... she didn't know how to put it in words. But she saw them as the same. When she closed her eyes at night, she only saw him. For her own emotional health, she tried to call the kidnapping experience just her 'stay' at the bunker and Jonathan just so happened to be there. However whenever she was categorizing or understanding anything she referred to it as what it was - an abduction. He'd abducted her.

It was the truth. And she would rather not skirt around the truth or try to avoid anything uncomfortable. No one at work knew about it, so far it had only been a small town case. If it had hit big news, she was Isabelle Dale, not Ruth Fisher, and she knew the police never released a photo or gave names. It had been an unsolved case, because they never caught Jonathan. She could have given them his name and then it would be all over for him, but she hadn't entirely wanted to. But she gave them the truth - his name was Scarecrow.

But when she forgot about the kidnapping, and she remembered Jonathan in only a positive light, she was full of warm feelings for him, and the desire to see him and talk to him and find out his thoughts. Some of the time. He was a friend, but more than a friend to her because a friend implied a superficial attachment. He was a companion, a lone wolf to her own lone wolf, and she saw only the two of them fitting together like that. That is why she enjoyed his attention. On some level, she enjoyed seeing him again. Sometimes over the course that she'd known him she'd worried about her appearance or about his level of attachment to her - whether or not he would leave, or, whether or not he would decide he didn't like her anymore.

As Isabelle trotted out of the elevator as the sun set she realized she was healing from the whole abduction experience. She was healing. And that was good for now.

* * *

I know that in the top scene Isabelle said their meeting was 'tomorrow' and Rachael said 'two days from now' - I wanted to make it like a realistic conversation where people get dates wrong or mixed up.


	44. Chapter 44

Although people liked Isabelle's pale skin and remarked on it when she said she was from the country, Isabelle was uncomfortable with it. It reminded her of her father, who was born in the East Coast and travelled for the rest of his life. Her mother was the Southern belle that tanned easily, had a strong body, and blonde hair and blue eyes. She'd raised her. Isabelle loved her. But she took after her father.

* * *

Her mother's business had grown bigger. It flourished under Gertrude, even though it was the same woman. Her mother said the different name of hers made it flourish exponentially. Her business was soon to make an alliance with Wayne Enterprises – who wanted her services. They had divisions in every field and were moving into agricultural areas like the towns Sally and Isabelle had grown up in to develop the land. They wanted an alliance with Sally's, or Gertrude's, business, because she was a recognized businesswoman throughout the South and also in a few dotted places around the states, and they would have a friendlier image if they went in that way.

Gertrude had to come up to Gotham to settle some legal matters, but she couldn't travel on such short notice. She'd asked Isabelle to confer with the attorney who would be putting the papers through and she'd agreed.

* * *

Isabelle thought on how no one had caught Jonathan. Saying his name was 'Scarecrow' should have been enough. Everyone in high school, the bullies anyway, called him a Scarecrow. If they had interviewed her high school classmates they would have connected it to that name. Or not, if they never bothered to remember. But then Isabelle remembered that almost all her high school classmates moved away from the small town to other cities, and thought that's how they'd never been interviewed possibly.

* * *

Isabelle had to see a psychiatrist after she escaped from Jonathan. The psychiatrist concluded that she was in shock, but overall handling it well. She pulled Sally aside and mentioned to her that Isabelle didn't seem to be suffering from Stockholm Syndrome, which was a good sign.

* * *

You know what – Isabelle was feeling good. She was feeling really, very good. She went out and did something she'd never done before on her own – she went shopping. She wanted to go find something to put herself in that was nice. Something nice. She ended up giving herself a bubble bath that night, giving herself a treat. She'd been so good, really. She just had, and she wanted to reward herself for no reason. She was excellent.

She'd been doing well at her job, been earning money for herself, she was taking care of Fluffy - he had no ailments to speak of said the vet, she'd been emotionally fine even with the upsets recently, and it was just – good. It was all just good. And she wanted to savor the moment.

When she got out she twirled into her bedroom tucked in a turquoise towel, then she remembered the box Jonathan had given her. She pulled it out and untucked the lid, pulling out the beautiful, elegant dress and looking at it. She ran in front of her vanity mirror then got changed so she could see herself in it.

It fit her perfectly. She absolutely _loved _it. It flattered her, it was understated, there was nothing flashy or too much skin showing, yet it made her look beautiful. She felt girlish for a second and twirled in the mirror, some of her hair wet by her hairline where she'd washed her face.

She fantasized that Jonathan saw her in it. And that he'd liked it. That they'd have a special connection.

She held her hip while looking in the mirror and staring at herself a while longer with a smile on her face, feeling good about herself. Then she took the dress off and put it back in the cupboard in its box as close to the state she'd opened it in as she could. She wanted to preserve it.


	45. Chapter 45

Dr. Jonathan Crane sat at his desk, re-reading the same page he'd been trying to read for half an hour. He sighed, knowing he wasn't getting anywhere and looked out the murky window that was as tall as a ceiling, not clean, and was fitted above a radiator that was never on due to Arkham's poor funding. He looked out at the city lights of Gotham.

She was always on his mind.

With his pen between his fingers he scratched his eyebrow and closed the paperwork in front of him, sitting back in his seat.

She was always in his thoughts, no matter where he went, or what he did. He didn't pay as much attention to his experiments as he did before.

He lay in bed that night, staring at the white ceiling, his eyes swiveling slowly back and forth just an inch each way.

She'd always been on his mind, of course, always – since day one. But now was different. He'd been giving her space, giving her time to process this – everything – that he'd been keeping himself back. He'd take out the beautiful dress and just look at it. It was so pretty. He could imagine it on her.

For some reason his attention now was different than before. Before they'd been two young people in a small town. No one was going anywhere. They weren't anybody, they didn't make a living for themselves. They weren't adults. Now they both were. They were both out in the big world, and he felt the need to pursue her. Make her his.

Now, Scarecrow had been itching at the back of his mind for that as of late. But he'd been patient for Isabelle, giving her space. The only time he accidentally saw her was when she'd been in the court hall. And by God she was beautiful. He had to tell her – let her know his affections were genuine, and constructive. They weren't in any way trying to hurt her.

He sighed longingly and turned onto his side.

He had to see her soon. He had to try to bring their lives together again. He'd been so long without her. When he brought her to the self-made bunker of his, he'd tried to cement their lives together. Then he didn't see her for a year, and couldn't find a way to find her. Now she was back, she was there, she was real, and she was so _close…_

Scarecrow's line of thought mirrored his. They couldn't let her go this time.


	46. Chapter 46

Jonathan sighed and rubbed a hand over his face before he leaned back in his chair. He shouldn't have done things this way – she feared uncertainty. Uncertainty of all kinds. He shouldn't have opted for mysterious, he should have opted for forthcoming. But he'd wanted to let her process this, process meeting him again and the whole complicated psychological process she had to go through before accepting him, which is why he had chosen that route. Also to give her a sense of control.

Perhaps that backfired. Perhaps he'd made things worse.

_Women! _He thought frustratedly. Not _women, _per se, but just understanding one little woman – his Isabelle. Why couldn't any of this be simple?

* * *

The meeting with Rachael Dawes being her attorney and the representative from Wayne Enterprises went well. There were no bumps, everything seemed to be going well. And Rachael was good. Isabelle saw throughout the meeting Rachael really had her back, legal-wise. She made sure Isabelle got all the things she wouldn't have known she would needed to cover with the gentlemen without her.

Since her mother had initially refused Wayne Enterprises offer – since it was to buy her business – they'd changed their minds and wanted to merge. Gertrude also refused, because her business, although getting bigger, was still small and family owned and she didn't want a large company coming in and developing the small towns she grew up in and still today, with her business, took care of. They changed their offer again to simply have some documents filed that Wayne Enterprises would not interfere with Gertrude's business unless it wanted to merge. That way, Wayne Enterprises could slowly develop in the south, as they had other divisions they invested more time in and were more local to Gotham, without being threatened by a potential business that _could _get big. It was also to be viewed in a more positive light over other companies that were creeping into the south to develop land – gaining an edge over their competition, essentially.

Ruth picked up her coat off the back of her swivel chair and shook the representatives hand. They exchanged goodbyes and the representative left with a file of his notes, and Rachael Dawes gathering up her own. Ruth put on her dark red coat, taking out her hair from the back and they both made their way to the exit.

"I'll take a look over everything again, you get your mother's approval, I'll send her a copy of the documents so she can look it over herself but it's very technical. Let me know what your mother thinks then I'll go over it with the representative."

"Thank you Ms. Dawes for all your help," Ruth shook her hand, smiled, then they parted.

Ruth took the elevator to Wayne Enterprises first floor, holding her hands together in front of her pelvis as she listened to the elevator music. She'd gone to the meeting straight after work, which had been at 4. It was now 6pm.

She walked out into the lobby, finding it crowded with people she didn't usually see, all leaving quickly to try to avoid rush hour traffic and she left into the night, trying to find her car. She drove home, and thought about how she was late to give Fluffy his dinner, which was usually five for the both of them. She saw a coffee shop but decided against spending extra money on extra food when she had some at home and got home quickly. She rushed up the unpleasant looking steps to her floor and quickly entered her door so she wouldn't run into her landlord.

She closed the door, locked it and put her keys in the key bowl, turning around.

"Fluffy, I'm home,"

That was odd, he was normally here to greet her. She hung up her coat and scarf, quickly taking off her beanie and gloves, putting them by the TV and walking in.

She went to her kitchen to eat. She got out the dog food for Fluffy and got the scooper but she heard the unmistakable sound of Fluffy eating from his bowl just outside the kitchen. She smacked down the scooper and marched out to Fluffy to see what he was eating – but it was his own food. He looked like he was trying to get his face _into _the floor with the force he was eating. Half peeking out of the kitchen, Isabelle raised her head to the figure sitting on the couch that hadn't been there before.

Jonathan looked over and smiled.

"He looked hungry. I wasn't sure when he eats."

Isabelle looked at him for a long while, before she straightened and disappeared into the kitchen. She closed the lid to Fluffy's food, scooper inside, and just stared at it while she tried to think. She got animated again, putting away the food in the cupboard.

"What are you doing here?" She asked as neutrally as she could. Why did he _keep _breaking into her apartment?!

And _what for, _seriously?!

"I just wanted to visit." Knowing she couldn't prolong it, Isabelle walked out into the living room where the only seats were the couch, and sat down with her heated leftovers, digging into them with a fork.

Apart from the sound of her utensils, silence reigned between them. Fluffy sloppily drank from his water bowl, chuffed, then padded over to the couch where he curled up next to Jonathan.

Jonathan surveyed Isabelle.

Isabelle looked at Jonathan, then up to see if her curtains were closed because it was dark. They were.

"When did you get a key?" She decided to ask, looking at him between digging in.

He licked his lips and sighed.

"You don't need to know that."

He sucked in a breath and leaned forward then back into the back of the sofa to adjust his seating.

Isabelle got some tomato sauce on the side of her mouth and wiped it with the corner of her finger. Some pasta fell into her lap. She sighed and put it back in the leftover bowl. The one time he's around she messes. Yet every single other time she eats completely mess free. How funny, wasn't it?

"It's so good to see you again."

She looked up at him, then dusted off her thigh and adjusted her seating.

"If you're going to be staying a while, you may as well have some spaghetti."

He chuckled a little and pushed up his glasses.

"If you would like, and you aren't too tired from work, I can treat you to a night on the town. A nice restaurant."

"No thanks. I'm quite content here." She looked at the TV. This would be around the time she would usually catch up on this week's episode of her favorite show, but she didn't move to turn on the TV.

Jonathan caught her motion.

"Is there something desirable to watch on television?"

She looked up at him.

"Oh, no, it's nothing you would be interested in. You wouldn't understand anything that's going on anyway."

He felt hope surge in his chest at her words – if she was thinking about his mental state, then she was accepting him on some level.

"Even so. I wouldn't want to impede your usual routine. Do, go ahead."

She shrugged and picked up the remote, turning on the TV and switching it to the right channel. She and Jonathan watched the thirty minute episode and in the blink of an eye it was over. Isabelle realized as the commercials came on and she turned off the TV that Jonathan was still here, and so was a small bit of her dinner. She put it on the table after eating the last spoonful, the spoon shivering against the side as she put it down.

"Interesting."

She leaned back and put her arm across the back of the couch, taking in the episode.

Jonathan took off his glasses and cleaned them.

"Do you regret taking me to that bunker? Kidnapping me?" She knew the answer, but she wanted to hear it in his own words. She wanted to see how he thought about all of this.

He looked at her for a long time, the glasses having returned to his face. He knew the answer, but contemplated how she would react to it. Then he remembered what she feared. It would be best to be honest and forthcoming.

"No. I do not."

She had no reaction, it seemed.

His brows furrowed just slightly as he said in his quiet voice,

"And why did you not turn me in?"

She shrugged one shoulder.

"I told them who did it. It was their fault they never caught you." She gave him piercing eye contact. "Scarecrow; Jonathan."

Suddenly he stood up and the move surprised her. He took off his glasses, and walked slowly around the coffee table with his thin, spindly legs, and then took a seat beside her.

Scarecrow was there.


	47. Chapter 47

This chapter was supposed to be posted with Chapter 46, but I had a really busy day.

* * *

Throughout the entire exchange, he thought about kissing her.

_We can't do it now._

_**Why not?**_

_As… pleasurable as that would be, it would be rushed._

* * *

She looked at him. His eyes pierced into hers. Their stare was level.

"Kitten," Scarecrow said. He reached out and put the back of his hand down her cheek. "Been so long."

"…It feels like yesterday, as well." She said in agreement. "An eternity ago, and yet… only a moment gone by."

She felt his hand go to her hair, predictably, and she sighed out of forced annoyance. His hand found the high ponytail of hers and pulled out the blue hair tie, never looking away from her as she stared forward. His hand moved her hair at the imprint her ponytail left her, making it long again. She'd worn it high for her meeting with the Wayne Enterprises representative.

"You are wearing smart clothes, hair tied up… What did you do today?" His voice was a raspy grumble, and quiet, both Scarecrow and Jonathan there.

"Just met someone official." She looked forward. His hand kept playing with her hair, longer than she thought he would. She looked at him and the hand stilled in her hair, then stopped, pulling his pale hand away. That was probably Jonathan. He blinked and looked away, and just like that Jonathan was back.

He adjusted his glasses. His posture, clinical.

"Would you like to talk about it?"

"No."

* * *

It was ten at night. She looked at the clock.

"What time are you going?"

He looked at her. She looked at him. They'd been talking for nearly four hours without a break. Neither of them had even had a glass of water. It been so easy to slip into. For once, the two quietest people in the room couldn't stop talking near each other. As Isabelle realized what she'd been doing, she felt slight horror that she'd been doing that with her ex-captor, and that it felt so good. It felt like a sin. At the same time, he was the only person in the world she felt close to and comfortable around and she'd felt so empty and lonely for a year. Now he was here, and she had to enjoy the moment because it was all she had. But, should she? She felt so torn.

Jonathan saw the time and his face showed minor surprise.

"The time passed by quickly." His lips down turned at the corners for a second like he didn't know what to make of that. "I best take my leave, then." He stood up and smoothed his tie. She thought he was so suave.

"Did you return my dress?" She asked without thinking. He picked up her beanie and gloves that were next to her TV, and he moved it over to the door next to her keys. He turned and smiled at her. The icy blue eyes that she'd never flinched under met hers, but it was his smile made her heart beat faster.

He opened the door and was gone.

* * *

Jonathan drove home, his sleek black car reflecting the amber street lights as he passed them.

He could take her out, maybe. He could invite her over for dinner. Maybe even buy her something nice that she'd like. He could take her down to Arkham, show her all his screaming patients –

_No, she won't like that._

_**Yes she will!**_

_It won't impress her, Scarecrow._

_**You don't know that.**_

He may want to show off for her, but it was important to remember that she wouldn't like the work he did. Scarecrow just grumbled in the back of his mind. _He _was proud of the work he did – why shouldn't she be? Now that she was theirs, she needed to be comfortable around the things he did. That was the _whole point _of asking her to join them!

Jonathan sighed and rubbed his temple as he turned into the lot of his house, parking the car in the garage. There'd be no point trying to convince his other – his alter ego would only have his own thoughts on this anyway. Thankfully, the body was predominantly his, or Scarecrow would just be running a muck.

He got out the car, keys in hand and entered his house. He looked about the hall the second he walked in. The halls, walls, the rooms. It was so big, and it was so empty. He could envision Isabelle being here, living here with him. Coming down the white curved stairs, hands on the rail**_. _**Coming to make dinner for the both of them, maybe. Then they could curl up on the couch and watch TV together.

_**We could bring her here. **_Scarecrow said so lowly he was almost whispering.

It'd be so easy, watching TV with her. Just being with her now proved he'd done it and enjoyed it, and more pressingly, so had she.

_We just could._

Jonathan climbed the stairs, alone. He walked down the hall and entered his bedroom. He went for his closet, thinking about how he liked Isabelle's presence and being in her apartment. He hoped his clothes soaked in the smell her apartment had – her scent. It was heavenly. Once he was in his bedroom, he left all thoughts of his experiments outside. They did not come into his bedroom. The closet light clicked on when he pulled the chain and he looked himself at the dresses, then one beautiful dress in particular.

As he picked the corner of it and pulled it out more of the line to see it better, Scarecrow whispered all sorts of things in his ear, quite like when they had first seen it, only more intense.

He let go of the dress and his eyes casually roamed his cupboard. He'd have to make space for her things, he thought.

* * *

"I think it's a good idea," said Sally's voice sounding mechanic through the phone. "It's a sound investment. An alliance with a company as big as Wayne Enterprises would keep us in the clear for a long time, especially with how they've been buying up land down here. I heard this whole town just got completely developed."

Isabelle pushed open her door with the key in the lock and an armful of groceries in the other.

"Excellent, I'll email Rachael. Or should I call her?" She groaned and quickly put down the heavy groceries before shutting her door with her hand, locking it and putting her keys in the bowl as usual.

"I've already emailed her. But call her as well just to check in so we're both in the clear."

"Okay, Mum."

"Okay, honey."

"I'll talk with you soon,"

"You too,"

"Kay, bye," Isabelle said softly and disconnected the call.


	48. Chapter 48

He nodded at the man in an unmarked white van before crossing the street to her apartment building.

Everything was ready.

Later he gassed those thugs. He did it alone last time and this time he needed the help but wasn't going to leave loose ends. As he gassed them in an alley he and Scarecrow thought about Isabelle as Scarecrow took hold of the two men's living nightmares and made it rain hell.

He took the van to a hidden location, where he parked his car. Then he brought the things from the white van into his car and made several trips home to deposit the things at his house. He would have taken his car the whole way, it would have been more under the radar, but the van was necessary to be in and out of her apartment in one trip. Then the rest of the way, he could use his car. White, unmarked vans signaled crime in Gotham. He wanted to be as covert as possible.

* * *

The park was beautiful today. The sun was shining a little, which was a lot for Gotham, the grass was a beautiful green and Fluffy and Isabelle were having the time of their lives. She caught a coffee with Charlie the day before on the way out of work. They were both heading there anyway. It was just coffee and conversation and it was nice. It turns out he has his own dog, and he also went to the same park she did. She didn't see him today however. Saturday was her day off but not his. Fluffy ran over with the blue chewed up frisby in his mouth and she took it from him. He ran after it quickly after it was thrown, ears flapping behind him. She chuckled at his work ethic and determination, relaxing on a cool bench alone away from where all the people, their dogs, and children were.

She sighed and looked at the sky, her hand covering it to look at the clouds and the metropolis reaching into them. What a nice day, she thought.


	49. Chapter 49

Jonathan looked around once. Everything was ready. He licked his lips and smoothed his hair, nodding to himself. Yes, now it was time for the final piece. He hoped she'd appreciate all his effort.

* * *

"Jonathan!" Isabelle tilted her head when she saw the twenty something year old make his way towards her. How did he find her in the park? As the man walked several women both single and married looked over at him admiringly, which he noticed with some bitterness. They were probably the kids that tormented young men like him, then they grew up and they were suddenly appealing for their tastes.

He focused on Isabelle and felt glad she was alone in the shade on a bench, like she was waiting for him. There would be no one to interfere. Her position reminded him a lot of when he would glance the playground as a child and he'd see her. Only now, she was looking at him. Hope and happiness soared in him when she called out to him - it eased some of his doubts that she would be in pain or hurt from what he was about to do. This was for her.

* * *

"What do you think, Isabelle? We could have a life, just you and me." The look in his eyes was so earnest. She'd never seen him so open, so vulnerable, so transparent. He was usually a fortress, so well guarded she couldn't discern his secrets. He'd always kept himself to himself, and she herself to herself. For the first time she felt like Jonathan was really giving her a window here. Being in high school together, they never really had large emotional displays, except for when he was rejected and humiliated by Sherri Squires. This wasn't an emotional display, but it was more emotionally open, and intimate.

Sitting on the bench next to her, Jonathan took her hand. Never really liking affection much - it'd always made her uncomfortable or feel suffocated, she pulled her hand away discreetly.

"You never wanted to be a graphics designer." He said softly.

"I earn money." She defended. "And I never told you what I wanted to be anyway." She looked down at her hands, her long hair falling over her shoulders.

Jonathan closed his lips, deciding to remain silent.

"And still," she said. "That's all just talk. It sounds wonderful, but it may not happen in reality, because one of us may fall through, or decide at the last minute we don't want it."

He looked at her, before mentioning with his jet black head.

"My car's over there."

He looked over her. He wanted her to come right away, but he couldn't do things like he had before. He'd rushed, he was hasty, three years of work went down the drain because he had her right in front of him and he had to take her. He wasn't going to do things like that if he could help it.

"You can judge for yourself what's fantasy and what's reality."

Isabelle sighed. He'd just come back into her life, the man of her dreams, the man she intensely admired, and already he was offering her a life with him, saying he'd never wanted it any other way. She just couldn't think right now. She could be grateful at least that this time it was a choice, but that couldn't be a reason to say yes.

"Jonathan," She began. "You've always been the one person I thought of, whenever I wanted anything - comfort, support, conversation. You too, Scarecrow. But right now I'm so confused, I have to process all of this." She looked at him in the eyes.

It was in his nature to not take offense to intellectual arguments. He was reasonable and objective. That's why he nodded, then turned away from facing her to face the park, seeing by the distance they had to everyone else that their conversation was private.

Birds twittered in the tree above them. There was no wind. Fluffy lay at Isabelle's feet, panting from his running, tongue out.

"One night, then." He looked at her. "One night with me, I can show you what it'd be like." He saw the flaw in his argument the second he'd said it, which was unusual for him. He usually saw the flaws of arguments before he spoke. Thankfully this was his only hasty move in the entire operation.

"One night is hardly a representative sample." She said uncaringly, seeing the flaw he had. "Of what the whole stay with you would be like." She waved a hand uncaringly.

He smiled at her. His clever, clever Isabelle. She remembered her stuff. He was the doctor, he should know about experimentation. He did - he just had a, thankfully, invisible lapse in judgment.

"A week then." He said. "That sound more fair?"

"Still, it's too short," She adjusted her seat, undoing an extra button on her dark cloak because the day was getting warmer.

Oh, he definitely agreed.

"But one night would be fun. Like a sleepover." She pointed her finger at him. "But you'd have to give me back in the morning -" Right after she said that she realized her mistake. For a second she was so lost in the comfort of being around him that she'd forgotten what he'd done before. And she'd said the same thing twice.

Her face fell and he looked at her with a grin on his face.

"Now why would I give you back?" He said while shaking his head.

He schooched forward, hand on the back of the bench, and she schooched back to mirror him. He, predatory. She, wary.

"Why?" He seemed to be honestly looking into her eyes for the answer. "When the whole world's had you and I can't? When you were never really mine?"

She kept calm.

"Jonathan. Scarecrow. You remember the day I told you that I found your presence tolerable?" Her brown eyes fearlessly stared into his icy blue. "That's the most I've told anyone. I enjoy your presence, in fact. Have you ever seen me willingly spend time around someone for my own enjoyment?" He was breathing harshly. "No. It was only you."

He seemed to calm significantly, but she sensed that the storm, the hornets nest, had not dissipated. She was still in its radius.

He came forward, until he could practically be in her lap. Their lips were so close it looked like they were lovers almost about to kiss.

"Get in the car, Isabelle." He looked at her lips the entire time he spoke, then looked at her eyes.

"Did you not hear me?" She replied to the snake's whisper. "I said wait."


	50. Chapter 50

"Jonathan, why do you have to be this way?" She asked softly. He stared at her lips.

* * *

Isabelle woke up with a moan.

_Just sleep, Isabelle, _a hand stroked her cheek _just sleep, make this easier on all of us_

* * *

As Isabelle fell into his arms on the bench, Jonathan kissed her hair then stroked it with his hand that beheld the wrist watch.

"I only wanted you to join me, my love." He whispered. Then he brought her to his car.

* * *

Isabelle woke up with a moan, the backs of her fingers on her eyes. She opened her brown eyes and didn't believe her surroundings.

She was in a house, judging by the size of the room. It was lavish and simple. The furniture alone was beautiful. The walls were purple, there were white ornaments in the room, and a yellow sundress of hers lay on the end of the purple colored queen bed she was in. She'd never been in this room before, or seen one like this before. She grew up in a small, rustic ranch house and her apartment was tiny without expensive items. Since she'd never seen it before, she couldn't be dreaming about it.

_Did I fall down a rabbit hole? _She wondered as she sat up slowly, taking the whole room in. She put a hand on the duvet to move it off her, feeling the softness of it and she marveled at it inwardly for two seconds - she'd never felt something like it - then returned to getting up and taking in the lavish room around her.

The purple carpet beneath her feet was plush and she felt weird putting her feet in it. She stood up from the bed anyway. She ignored the yellow sundress and moved past the bed to the doorway. The only smell she could describe was paint.

Her hand went out to the doorway, she seeing that her gloves were not on her hands anymore. She turned to see if perhaps she'd dropped them out of her coat pocket or something but they were on the bedside table. She glared and turned back to the doorway. Think of it as a parting gift for when she got out of here.


	51. Chapter 51

The real estate agent was showing him this house. He walked up the staircase, the man in a black suit pointing out various things and talking of the house's assets, beauty, style and origins. The real estate agent noticed he was a small man, only exaggerated by how big the house was, and inquired as to whether he had a big family. Jonathan smiled thinly at the man and told him not to ask those kinds of questions. The real estate agent ducked his head and moved on with showing him the rest of the rooms. After climbing the staircase, they came to one room in particular that made Jonathan's world expand. He looked around the room. Like the others, it was just plank flooring without carpet yet, the walls were bare white and there was plastic hanging everywhere on scaffolding and paint splattered ladders from the workers that had gone home for the day. There was something about this room that sold the house to him over the other two he saw that day. He hadn't known then, but subconsciously the room made him think of Isabelle. He bought the house in cash, making the developers happy. This house was more work than the others, and slightly smaller as well, but it had a charm to it that the others didn't have. It was like he was on autopilot once the the house was settled and finally his. He moved his things quickly and got to work on the house. He climbed the staircase, hands on railing, blue eyes up. He walked to the end of the hall and found that same room again. He turned the knob and let the door swing open by itself. The room, despite its bareness, was still as magical as the first time he saw it. Isabelle. He hadn't quite known then, but she'd been on his mind when he bought it. When he furnished it. When he got it painted. He made the room for Isabelle. It was Isabelle's room.

* * *

The door was unlocked, which made her let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. She peeked out into the hallway, finding it as beautiful and exquisite as her own room, just different. Seeing no one and hearing nothing, she took a step out and closed the door behind her, pulling her lips apart in hope it would close quietly. It made no noise.

She turned for the staircase. But that would be too easy. What if he was down there? What if he was up here?

Who knows? Either way, she had to face him, wherever he was. And being the chemical genius that he was, he probably knew how long it would take her to wake up and be prepared for that.

But Isabelle was surprised when nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. She heard no footsteps or noises.

She peeked over the landing, seeing where the tail of the staircase ended and fed into an entry way but she couldn't see much else or anything to tell her about the downstairs she couldn't see.

She creeped down the staircase that had a royal blue tongue. She slowed near the bottom before the downstairs was visible and was extremely cautious. She saw no sign of anyone by the time she got to the bottom of the stairs in the three doorways she could see. After looking between them she went into the middle one which was a white living room. He obviously didn't have a dog or children because everything was still white and had a perfect placement.

She could tell by looking around that if she sat on the couch, she wouldn't be easily seen if he came through the doorway. Some of the things he had were confusing, even if they were beautiful and she sometimes had to look at something for a while to know what it was. She'd never owned so many objects in her life. Jonathan probably hadn't either, before he came to Gotham, she thought.

Just as she sat down on the couch, she saw right in front of her in the doorway - she had no idea how long he'd been standing there - was Jonathan. She was a little surprised it was only him and Scarecrow was absent.

"There's a shower, behind you. Door to your right." Even from how far away she was, she could still see how icy his detached, cold blue eyes were. But they had hidden excitement and eagerness in them. "We can talk afterwards, over dinner." He had his hands in front of him professionally.

Isabelle slightly raised hand over her lap was shaking, she noticed. Low blood sugar. Her senses told her it was around dinner time as well.

Oh my God, what happened to Fluffy?

Jonathan smiled, a true smile.

"He's safe and sound." He let out a breath through his nose as he smiled, before turning back the way he came. "Now shower. I'm sure you have lots of questions."


	52. Chapter 52

Isabelle peeked out of the bathroom door into the hallway. She'd just taken a shower, which was nice and refreshing. She didn't want to think herself too complacent in this new place after being abducted _again. _But when you thought about it, this whole thing actually wasn't as dramatic as the movies made it. It was just like every day life, only she was in a new place. Plus she considered if she looked after herself when she had the opportunity, it would keep her health, and also get on Jonathan's good side, which would help her.

She stepped out into the hallway, not knowing what to do. She looked left then looked right, then decided to find her way back to the living room, being the only place she knew. When she got there she went and sat on the same couch again. She was startled when she realized Jonathan was on the cream couch opposite her and had been there the whole time. The way the objects were placed in the room, it sort of hid him. He smiled amicably at her, an expensive tea tray that looked like it could serve the royal family on the glass coffee table before them.

"Would you like some tea?"

She shook her head in negative.

He picked up his cup and drank from it. There was utter silence in the room.

He put down his teacup. It clinked.

"Now," He said, leaning back and putting his arm over the sleek back of the couch that was lined in a fancy mahogany wood over the cushions. "I never intended to take you so soon. But such things have been accommodated for. Did you like your shower?"

It was the most expensive bathroom she'd ever seen and had been, also, the beautiful she'd ever seen, and been in.

"Yes." She said.

He nodded with a pleased smile, touching his glasses.

"I want you to have a life here." His face returned to neutral again. To Isabelle it showed he was serious. "I was selfish before. I expected you just to get up and leave your old life behind and come and live with me. Now, I see. So I've brought your things this time. All your clothes," He picked up his teacup again. "they're in your room." He sipped, put it down again into the saucer. "I only want you to be happy. Here. With me. I've brought you everything you like. The room you woke up in, I hope it was to your liking?"

Isabelle had, but she disregarded the question in favor of trying to understand what he was saying. So he just wanted her happy, and he wanted her to experience happiness by him. Well, it was a simple enough request. It's not like he was asking her to build an atom bomb or a rocket. It was so simple. Was that really all? Didn't kidnappers want something from their victims?

Jonathan chuckled quietly, adjusting his glasses up a little as if he read her mind.

"I assure you, I want nothing from you. I simply want you to be happy. I'll provide everything."

"What? No. I need my job. I need my independence, my own money."

This was met with silence.

He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward, hands interlacing by his knees.

"You can't go to your old job - "

"I won't tell anyone." She said. She then rolled her brown eyes. "There's no one to tell anyway."

"Your mother - " He said quietly.

"She's all the way in the South, and we only call each other every now and again. I'm still in the same city, aren't I? So as long as I have my phone she should just be able to call me and that's it. Wh - wait, why, Jonathan? Why do I have to come here? I was perfectly fine in my apartment - "

"No you weren't." He said quietly.

"I was perfectly fine in my apartment, and you bring me here? Jonathan, I'm not criticizing," She said raising her hands, not wanting to offend him. "I just want to understand your trail of thought."

"Hm. Good question." He leaned his head a little to take off his glasses, and looked down at them. Isabelle was also thinking over what they had both said.

"I mean, I was fine in my apartment. There was nothing wrong."

"You weren't with me." He said quietly, his eyes raising to hers. The piercing blue met brown that could handle the intensity of the stare. He blinked then returned his glasses to his face, running his fingers through his hair and leaning back against the couch. "Gotham is dangerous." He said. "Here, you'll be safe."

"And where's Fluffy?"

"He's sleeping right now."

She wanted to worry, but she trusted Jonathan on an instinctual level. Fluffy was okay. She didn't have a bad feeling about it.

She looked at the tea, her tongue moving in her mouth. She had meant it when she didn't want it. But the tea looked different than the tea she bought. He was the Head of Arkham now, wasn't he? Arkham itself wasn't funded well. How did the doctor get paid so much?

She shook her head softly. She looked at him in the eyes.

"I can't be completely and utterly dependent upon you." She blinked softly. "I need my own money. Even if it's not what you get paid. I need to have my own money, sense of independence."

Jonathan hummed.

"Yes, I suppose for your psychological health, it would be beneficial. However," He leaned forward again. "what assurance do I have that you'll come back everyday?"

She didn't know the answer to that question. Her mind drew a complete blank. Her honest opinion was - here, there, what was the difference? She didn't have an emotional attachment to her apartment, nor her part of the city. Her only attachment was to her sense of independence, which was connected to her job. Even if it didn't pay as much as Jonathan obviously earned, it was the money and the independence she both liked and needed. If she stayed here, it would be in a more luxurious place to be in, more aesthetically pleasing. She'd never had it before, so she didn't _need _it even though it was nice. She could easily return to her apartment without feeling too sad. She'd grown up where they had to watch how much water they used for laundry, for gods sake.

"How close is it from here to my work?"

"About the same distance." He said. "Wayne tower is in the middle of Gotham."

She nodded.

"I see."

His jaw moved about as he thought.

She leaned forward and took the teacup for something to do and drank some of the liquid. Wow, it was potent. It made her tea in comparison be completely tasteless. She wasn't envious, but now that she had the comparison of the two she wouldn't be able to enjoy the tea she used to drink anymore, not with knowing how this one tasted.

"Jonathan, why me?" She asked, tilting her head. She put the cup down quickly. "I mean - twice, this is the second time. Just, what - " He leaned his head forward trying to understand her sentences. "Why me?"

"That, cannot be answered so late in the day. It's time for dinner." He said softly before standing and holding out a hand to her just as she was about to get up. She looked at his hand then took it. He helped her up, which she thought was a useless gesture because she'd been getting up herself her whole life then this guy wanted to come along and help her do it. Seeing she wasn't averse to holding his hand Jonathan held on instead of letting go like he intended and led her to the dining room.


	53. Chapter 53

The first scene here is a flashback. This chapter's tricky, I hope I got it right. If you're reading this and wonder if there need to be break lines, they're not there on purpose.

* * *

Jonathan was in his car outside her apartment. He was sitting in the driver's seat, hands on the wheel, looking up at her apartment. Simply, because he wanted to be there. He saw something move in the shadows and his blue eyes focused some more. Burglars. They were trying to get up the fire escape in the alley next to the apartment building.

Jonathan's mask was in his hand before he had a single conscious thought. As he closed the car door behind him his eyes didn't come off the five struggling men. His steps were long and took him quickly across the street to the men struggling and squabbling as quietly as they could in the dark, carrying sacks on their backs as they tried to give one another a leg up to get up the fire escape, but they were still on the ground.

Gas flew in their faces and they yelled, formation falling apart. Scarecrow gased them each in the face and in seconds they turned into fearful shells of men trying to run from their fears that inevitably devoured them whole. Scarecrow was harder on them than he was harder on his patients, or anybody he'd ever tested the gas on. Enjoying the fear was a plus, but experiments required a measure of control. A controlled measure of gas, as well as controlling his own behavior. He never dealt his gas without that degree of control. Except for that night. Enjoying it was just an added benefit. But tonight he was angry, and his restraint snapped in the idea that Isabelle would get hurt.

When Jonathan reflected on it later he realized he'd been seeing red.

* * *

Dinner was quiet. Only the silverware lightly tittering on the plates could be heard in the room. Jonathan held his napkin to his lips then put it next to his plate. Isabelle copied him more delicately and did the same.

She had no idea what the time was. Dinner could mean anytime to Jonathan. She hadn't seen any clocks so she had no idea.

"What's the time?" She asked casually. He looked at his watch out of reflex but realized what he was doing and shot her a discreet look from under his eyebrows before he picked up his glass and took a sip. She wasn't supposed to know the time yet, yet his reflexes had got him. He'd nearly told her out of habit.

"I'm not going to run away based on the time."

He put down his glass disinterestedly.

"It's 6:08."

She nodded, looking down at her plate. She wanted to find something to do but saw that she'd done it all already.

How was she supposed to think about all of this? How _did _one assemble this in their brains, process all of this? She had a captor that had been her heart mate for her entire life, then he kidnapped her to a bunker, she escaped, then a year later he did it again, claiming to want her to live with him and for her to be happy. She kept thanking her lucky stars that he was not abusive or neglectful - she would be in a hell then with no way out. She had that much to be grateful for and with that conclusion, she looked about the room.

Jonathan was thinking throughout dinner upon Isabelle's request to keep going to her work. At least she hadn't immediately ask he send her home. He glanced up at her through his black lashes; at least she was adaptable. He appreciated such a trait. Instead of crying, screaming, or demanding to go home, when engaged with conversation with him, which he could absolutely assume she had no prior knowledge of his intentions, she negotiated her side calmly. Diplomatically, furthermore. There was an additional side - he hated crying women or emotional encounters and forces. Isabelle immediately responded to this entire situation rationally - something he intensely admired in her because it was something rare to come by, especially in women. It was something he needed in a mate. So they could keep up with him. He enjoyed it when she responded to him rationally. There were no guessing games, no emotional outbursts. He could get his point across and trust that she would take it with an open mind. That had been tested today and proved, otherwise he would not believe it.

Isabelle's feet were cold. She curled her toes under the table. She'd been given time to get dressed but she didn't put any socks on. She peeked at Jonathan across the table and didn't want to offend him or rush him, but he really looked deep in thought, leaning back in his chair and staring at his plate, napkin in hand. Just as she tried to think of something to say he sat forward, putting down his napkin and then pushing back his chair. She followed. Her knowledge of what to do at dinner came slightly from her mother, but the part involving eating dinner with a man only came from her readings. She'd once tried fiction - picking a romance novel out of the list of books they could choose for a project in English out of curiosity. This was what the woman did, and the same was reflected in other romance books, the man lead the way. He hadn't said anything, so she thought she had to be doing it right.

But when she stood up from the table, she felt a sense of panic. She had no idea what was going to happen next. Absolutely none. Up until now, she could guess; have an idea. When he stood and she followed, taking his lead, she had no idea what was going to happen next. She felt her heart pump faster and fear course through her like from a sponge in her gut being squeezed and the proverbial water, here, fear, ran through her blood. She watched the man come around the table nonchalantly.

Jonathan recognized the look of fear immediately.

"Isabelle," He chuffed, tilting up his glasses slightly. "Don't be scared, I'm not going to hurt you,"

"...Fear of the unexpected." She said quietly, leaning slightly away from him.

He chuckled a little more then sobered.

He held out a hand. When she took it, he began walking with her hand in his out of the dining room. He turned his head to her quietly,

"We can do whatever you want now." Their feet took two steps before he spoke again, the both of them walking like a couple through a mall. "It's early - you can sleep, we can watch TV - "

She stopped them from walking anymore and turned to him.

"I need to see Fluffy."

He nodded, swiveling to a doorway.

"This way."

* * *

"Hey buddy! Hello Fluffy, my little Fluffykins." Isabelle scratched Fluffy all over whose tail was wagging while he bent his short haired brown body around her. He sniffed Jonathan's black clad leg, looking up at him then he turned back to Isabelle.

"He's important to you." Jonathan said.

"Yes," She agreed, hugging her dog, who held still with her, then when she let him go he moved about.

* * *

Fluffy ran into the livingroom happily, making Isabelle realize something.

"Is this place dog friendly? I think some of your stuff is going to get broken."

Jonathan chuckled a little.

"Everything's fixable, or I can just buy it again."

* * *

Isabelle politely asked to go to the kitchen to get a drink. When she came back with some warm milk, Jonathan was sitting on a couch with the television on. Fluffy was at his feet, laying down. It looked so odd. It looked so normal, for what a day she had. She stopped in the doorway at the sight.

He turned his head to look at her over the back of the couch and smiled welcomingly. He was going to say something but then it reminded him of one liners in the movies and he didn't like corny. He also thought Isabelle wouldn't appreciate anything hackneyed, and he simply said instead,

"Well, are you going to stand there all day?"

She walked into the living room and sat down on the couch, a respectable distance from Jonathan. Her eyes were on the TV as she drank her milk.

It was only then did Isabelle remember that she'd been the middle man (woman) in orchestrating her mother's business 'peace treaty' with Wayne Enterprises. She hoped she would be able to go out and do things like before. If her mother ever asked her to do that again, and she couldn't, well she couldn't very well just refuse without good reason. It would look immediately suspicious. She always had the time, and no pressing responsibilities that she could refuse a request like that from her mother. After all, she was in the city. She would look irrational refusing and that would raise red flags upon what she was doing and why she couldn't do that for her mother.

_Goodness me, _She thought musingly, staring at the television with the cup in her lap. _I sincerely hope that sorts itself out._

Should she tell Jonathan? What was the reason to? Was there any reason to be concerned at all? Would a request like that from her mother even come up again? What was all the fuss about - she could only think about this if he let her return to work. That is, if she could convince him she would come back every day. But the thing is, she didn't have concrete proof that she would come back every day. She didn't have anything to give him or otherwise somehow prove to him that she would return to this house. If her stuff was here, Fluffy was here, and it was the same distance from her work, then really what was the difference? The only difference was, she'd lived alone before. Her time was her own. She could schedule anything at any time. She didn't exactly know what Jonathan's idea was of them living together. Would they spend a lot of time together? Would they go out? Like, what?

Jonathan had seen to everything. He'd even handed in her keys with an envelope and her monthly rental fee, plus extra - so that she wouldn't kick up a fuss over the lack of two weeks notice - to the landlady. He didn't tell Isabelle this, but he was aware the question was likely to come up later. He also didn't tell her that her car was in his garage next to his, in case she might try to escape that night while he was sleeping.

As he watched TV, Jonathan's ever analytical mind went inward and reflected. He had to constantly monitor both his and Scarecrow's mood - which he'd learned somehow kept them both in check, with the controlled outlets of experimentation, of course. Scarecrow was as quiet as a forest about plotting ways to turn fear into the greatest reality for his co-workers and patients. In fact, Jonathan felt contentment in his chest. But as Jonathan's mind came to notice this, Scarecrow livened up with images, thoughts, and whispers in his mind about the woman sitting next to him, focused on watching TV.

The words were like the sound of a running creek in his ear, beautiful but somehow irritating. When this happened he couldn't focus on anything, and to perpetually go his whole life filled with nothing but disdain for others, having amorous intentions and even just positive thoughts or feelings towards another person was not only foreign but exhausting. And yet...

Jonathan looked at Isabelle from the corner of his eye. Yet, she was the person in his life that held all of that, that he felt all of that towards. He accepted her role in his life to be the person he felt those things towards, and wanted her to keep that role. His personality otherwise would not allow for such, well, romantic devotion. He was practical, utilitarian, down to earth. He built the house he had because it was his sanctuary from the outside world that was filled with incompetent idiots and people who did not understand him or his mind. He filled it with enjoyable things, and wanted to make it a comfortable nest for Isabelle. He wanted her to rest here in the same comfort he had. He was a man that did things to express his feelings, so the amorous thoughts were quite uncomfortable at first, on top of his inability to focus. They were Jonathan's thoughts anyway. Jonathan didn't know how to describe Scarecrow's thoughts.

* * *

Isabelle had been so deep in thought, unable to focus while she was trying to process everything that she didn't notice it was her favorite program on TV half way through. She shifted and blinked when she realized, drinking the rest of her milk and leaning forward to put the cup down on the coffee table. She felt Jonathan's blue stare on her, but she pretended she didn't know it was there.

When Isabelle leaned forward he stared at how her hair fell down her back.

She unconsciously shifted closer to Jonathan as she watched the TV, actually focusing on the content now rather than the lights. She had no idea what was going on, but tried to figure it out as the commercials came on in the middle of the program. She leaned back into the couch, contemplating and trying to draw connections.

Jonathan stared forward, trying to prevent himself from touching her. Scaring her away now would only make it an uphill battle for him later. He had an idea that Isabelle was almost like a little mouse. When Jonathan tested this idea against what he already knew about her, he found it to be false. He thought in his memory to what she did when she was scared, to how she moved on after being kidnapped by him, how she'd escaped on her own, studied and got a good job. He thought about how she'd meet his eyes - what not many could do for long - and how she could handle both Scarecrow and himself one after the other - all proved several times. She was far from a mouse, and was far from his temporary idea that if she just got a little bit scared, she would scuttle away into a shell and it would be hard to draw her out. So Jonathan touched her.

She looked over when his hand touched her hair, holding her hair and stroking it a little in the middle. She didn't really care either way, if he liked it when she didn't mind, if he didn't want to do it she didn't mind, and she looked forward to the TV. When she was reminded the commercials were on, she looked around the room to try to find something more mentally stimulating, seeing a rack of DVD's.

She turned her head to look at him.

"Can we turn on a DVD?" He gently raised his stare to hers, still touching her hair. "Afterwards?" After the show finished.

He nodded.

"Of course. Do whatever makes you happy."

She shrugged.

"Okay."

* * *

If you find any mistakes, please let me know. Even if some sentences or sentence structures are confusing, just say please because it helps me out. Thanks :)

I'm glad you all enjoy reading :)


	54. Chapter 54

The DVD she picked was an action thriller. The man rode a motorbike past flaming cars and exploding buildings all the while having a shootout with a gang. Isabelle was enraptured, watching with her body completely still.

Jonathan looked at Isabelle from the corner of his eye then excused himself.

He went to the bathroom, turned on the sink and splashed some water on his face. Sighing and grabbing the hand towel he wiped his face with it. Straightening up he leaned on the sink with his hands and stared at his reflection.

He blinked. Would he be physically attractive for Isabelle? He'd spent his whole life being ugly that it was still his self perception until he looked in the mirror, which was not often. Of course he was attractive. Women gave him looks on the street, the nurses at Arkham looked longingly after him whenever he walked down the hall, his secretary flirted with him until he fired her and found a male one. When he'd been a professor his female students often tried to seduce him. The talk in the halls were of how young and handsome he was, so close to their age, but they were also creeped out by his eyes. He was attractive. All of the evidence pointed towards it.

He didn't particularly want to be attractive for the sake of being attractive, he wanted to be attractive for Isabelle.

It came to Jonathan's mind, as he stared in the mirror, just how long he'd been after Isabelle. And now, she was here with him. He was incredibly lucky. Or, if you believed like Jonathan did, just a hard worker. Persistence got him everything in life. Through the bullying, abuse from his grandmother, and his poverty, he'd managed to become one of the brilliant young minds, the youngest professor at Gotham University and the youngest Head Arkham's ever had. It was through the help, and the hindrance when he wanted to be, of Scarecrow.

And he had her now. He had Isabelle. But he'd thought that last time, hadn't he?

Jonathan out the towel to his cheek one last time before putting the towel on the rack, tidying the things on the counter. He'd been doing well so far. He was courteous, not too pushy or overly zealous that she was here in his house with him. He'd managed so far to keep perfectly calm and collected. Scarecrow had been keeping quiet, with the occasional sassy comment to anything she said. But otherwise, it was mild. Yes. He just had to keep going this way until she warmed up to them. So far so good, the way she was treating him, but he knew better than to believe the signs just yet. Once she slept on it, or had a moment to herself, she'd be able to process everything. Or it would all just hit her. It was a good possibility she was taking it so well because she was in shock. He did have a master's in psychology after all.

He finished up what he was doing, getting some soap from the bottle on his hands and he washed his hands again calmly under the silver tap and shaking his hands. He turned around. Yes, he just had to continue what he was doing. And stopped.

He hadn't noticed walking in. He hadn't been able to see it in the mirror. But on the ground on the mat by the shower, were Isabelle's old change of clothes that she was in before she had a shower. He could see the corner of a bra and some underwear. His blue eyes burned.

* * *

Isabelle blinked and noticed that Jonathan was gone. She wondered how long he'd been gone. She got the black remote and turned down the volume a little so she could hear. She heard complete and utter silence, but she didn't give up. Eventually she heard a door open down the hall and went white with horror. It was the bathroom. She'd forgotten to take her clothes out of there. She covered her mouth. How indecent! She felt a blush come up to her cheeks of embarrassment just as Jonathan rounded through the doorway. Her mind worked quickly. She was so busy trying to think of how to apologize and what to say in this situation that the difference in Jonathan went over her head.

"Hey, I just realized, I left some of my clothes in the shower by accident. Sorry."

His blue eyes raised to her and she realized they were glowing.


	55. Chapter 55

Isabelle was surprised when her long time friend walked into the room. Had she not been so preoccupied with her embarrassment and shame she would have noticed the slight difference in him. His eyes raised to her and they burned. For all their force, Isabelle only felt them gently pressing against her. She blinked, a feeling swirling in her gut that wasn't apprehension, or her embarrassment or shame; or guilt, anger, regret or a bad feeling. It wasn't any of those, but she didn't exactly think it was a bad emotion.

She shifted just slightly and tried to watch the television. She picked up the remote to make it as loud as it was before but he stalked into the room and stood in front of her. She kept the remote in the air, staring up at him fearlessly as if waiting for him to move out of the way. He took a step closer into her personal space and her eyes averted, he, bending down. She figured it would be a matter of time before he made a move on her, but she didn't expect it to be so forward. Jonathan was a subtle man. The hand with his wrist watch went to the armrest of the sofa. He moved until he cornered her against the corner of the sofa.

_Strategic _she thought. She couldn't get out.

She felt butterflies and a warm, pleasant feeling spreading in her chest when he came closer. Their bodies were touching through their clothes, yet they were hovering, he just hovering over her. Their lips were close.

* * *

It was too much. The vinyl red heels, the lipstick, her undergarments. And Scarecrow came clamoring out without Jonathan's iron will able to stop him - rope him back.

* * *

He was out. Completely out. Isabelle realized too late. He was before her more entirely than she had ever seen before. Her heart thudded a little harder at the anticipation, the proximity, and the excitement of a new situation. She'd never met Scarecrow all alone before.

She tried to focus on him in the shadows of the darkened room in spite of the lights of the TV flickering behind him. She found she didn't have the desire to move out from under him, even though she knew he put her there. His other arm went on the other side of her and gripped the back of the sofa. Her knees were against her chest, but their faces were close. She raised her eyes to his eyes.

Did... did her clothes do this? Her underwear?

Sound choked out of her throat when he suddenly licked up her neck. He pulled in close, a fist, almost harsh, pulling aside the fabric of her shirt and for a split second her heart thudded quicker in her chest at the idea he found it - the hickey that had not completely disappeared - he'd seen it somehow, but his lips met it with familiarity and searing heat. She cried out, shifting her shoulder from the pure sensitivity of the spot, and the man cooed.

After his coo he slipped an arm around her waist. He peppered kisses over her shoulder, the other arm reaching up to take root in her hair.

Isabelle had no idea what to do. Did she respond? Or should she refuse him from some moral principle that she would see later but can't see now?

"Our mark. Jonathan and my mark." He purred with a raspy voice into her neck. Suddenly she was kissed searingly, her head pushed back easily into the couch. He hovered over her, kissing her passionately. She pushed him away by the chest and at first he wouldn't go but with more insistence he did. She tried to ignore how he was breathing raggedly, and her as well.

"Your mark? You knew it was there all along?"

He smirked, eyes of blazing blue fire staring into hers.

"You told me where you wanted it. In your sleep - you're very vocal. Found a nice, sensitive spot." He was ready to observe the change in her when it happened. Her subtle shifting. Embarrassment.

He grinned. But then it fell suddenly and his whole body completely froze over hers.

"Or do you prefer him over me?"

She observed the sudden changes going on in his eyes before utter fury blazed in his orbs and she was quick to say,

"No, Scarecrow. I like the both of you." And it was the truth. They were different, but she liked them both. They were both one person, anyway, if you believed the psychiatrists.

It looked like he didn't believe her at first, then he sighed. He stroked her hair. He pulled a hand of hers to the front of his pants and she yanked it away once she felt what was there.

"You're a tease, Isabelle."

* * *

His eyes stared at the underwear. The underwear had a light wet patch. She'd been wet.

* * *

At first he thought she'd left it there on purpose, to tease him. But taking a look at her, he remembered who she was. His Isabelle. His angel. His kitten. She would never do something like that. She was innocent.

"Jonathan wanted to wait. Wanted you to come to us on your own. But it was taking too long." He settled closer to her. "I've waited _so long, _kitten. _So long _to hear your voice, see your face, have you looking at me..."

"At the bunker you were the happiest."

"Of course. I had you all to myself." He grinned wickedly. "And Jonathan." His face suddenly got close to Isabelle's and she knew it was a test. Her neck easily let her head fall back onto the slope of the couch, keeping her face blank and eyes not looking directly at his as he hovered his face over hers. "And this time, kitten, giving me tasks and getting things for you won't stop me."

She quickly analyzed his statement and stopped him before he could go further.

"It wasn't to make you go away, Scarecrow," She could tell he was listening by the minute pause in his body and eyes. "it wasn't to stop you or to keep you from me. I wanted to pace things out. I wanted time to think. After all, I'd just been taken from everything I knew. I love your intensity, but in order to think I couldn't be in your embrace or under your kiss." She hoped her backwards compliment on his loving skills would help her.

He grinded his teeth as he thought. Yes, that would make sense if the wetness in her panties were anything to go by. He grinned again. His mind flashed for a moment about Johnny, before he put his forehead on her shoulder and groaned.

"I'm going to be in trouble."

Seconds later he scooped her up and she was in his arms. She was silent although she felt surprise. She had no time to grapple for the TV remote, although she would have tried harder if she thought he wasn't going to bring her back - which turned out to be his intention.

He climbed up the curling staircase, his gaze on the landing above them and it dawned on Isabelle. She squirmed.

"What - no, put me down,"

He looked at her, which surprised her that he was acknowledging her, and chuckled.

"I'm not going to do that, kitten, just pipe down." He walked onto the landing and came to the first door on the left. "I've spent my whole life hiding in the shadows, skulking in the darkness after you. For once, I want it to be open. I want to hold you in my bed with you knowing about it."

"...What?" He put her on his bed. She pulled down her top which had risen a little and looked around the darkish room. He moodily got in the other side of the bed and drew up to her form.

She was tense about being in a new situation, in a new place. She actually forgot Scarecrow was behind her because of the foreign things in the room, the different smell than her apartment and the new feel of the place, until he sighed heavily behind her and tightened his arm around her.

"You're above fear, dear. And nothing will hurt you." She felt his lips and the tip of his nose on the back of her neck as he breathed a few moments later, "Just accept me..."

She shivered from the feeling.

"Scarecrow," She said in a sigh, in spite of her situation. "I've always accepted you. And Jonathan."


	56. Chapter 56

Thank you to all my reviewers, favoriters, alerters, and to all my repeat readers.

* * *

When Jonathan awoke the next morning he remembered total blackness. He had absolutely no idea what happened the night before after he left the bathroom. All he knew was he was now in his bed.

This was the first time he was having a fugue state. He didn't have to worry about the black in his memory for long though, Scarecrow showed him his memories gloatingly. His head throbbed. He fell back into bed with a groan.

_I didn't want to have to go back on medication, Scarecrow. _He said. _I wanted you to be part of this with me. What would be the point of all of this - _regarding Isabelle and what they had worked so long for_ - if I had to lock up half of me? You had to, you say?_

He then recalled Isabelle's clothes on his bathroom mat. And how that had been the last straw. He rolled onto his side in bed and rubbed his face to help wake him up. Yes, he supposed, it was perfectly understandable on Scarecrow's part. He wouldn't take the medication again to punish him or make him go away. It was understandable, his reaction.

Just then he was aware of the body lying next to him. It was warm, judging from the heat radiating from it, complete with a head of long hair and all, poking out from his covers. For the first time that morning Jonathan felt horror. He quickly shook her shoulder.

"Isabelle, Isabelle."

"What?" She asked tiredly, shifting so she could see him a little. He felt relief. Scarecrow seemed affronted inside of him that Jonathan would dare think he'd use the toxin on her, or hurt her, or kill her.

Having a vicious argument inside himself, Jonathan decidedly stood up, walking to his bathroom and closing the door a little harder than he meant to, having the argument out with himself as quietly as he could in the small space of the bathroom.

* * *

Isabelle woke up confused. She forgot where she was, and just... what she was doing here?

Jonathan was there. Was this a dream? Was this another life? What happened before this morning? After she remembered she got up and trudged sleepily towards the exit of the room. When it had all started, in the bunker, it had been to appease the Scarecrow, the things she did. She did not know him - yet, somehow she did. But logically, consciously, she didn't. So she did things only to appease him in the bunker. But it changed, now she had feelings. They had not developed that night, they were aroused long before in an indiscriminate time she could not pinpoint, feelings for both of them - Jonathan and Scarecrow. She didn't see them as two different people, she saw them as one person with two different temperaments and separate names. She got to the door and lingered there, sleepily looking one way then another, her hair a mess from sleep. She didn't recognize the hallway but decided to go opposite from the stairs. Her room was here somewhere. Suddenly she recognized everything when she was more awake and she was ale to find the right room and went to the bathroom.

* * *

This was ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. All of this.

But this was life for Jonathan, and Scarecrow. They were together on everything, except when they argued. Often, Jonathan was in conflict with Scarecrow - he gave Jonathan so many problems - but Scarecrow was also always there for Jonathan. He always had been. They shared everything, every memory, every sensation, every thought. Or, mostly, anyway. They had periods of diversion of interests or opinion but then they also had periods of complete unity and synchronicity. While Jonathan was with his other half on how they felt about Isabelle, he did not approve of Scarecrow's shoving him out of the way to get to her. That was all. The mental stress of a fugue state, of having such a tumultuous shift between one personality to another like a complete polar switch, was extremely tiring and stressful on him. On the both of them. Both of them could feel the backlash of such a large switch they'd never done before.

But he'd felt the same way as Scarecrow had the night before. He wanted to be near Isabelle, and kiss her and touch her. He just wanted to be more restrained about it. Scarecrow didn't, and he made actions that Jonathan would then have to rectify. Not the first time it happened. Not, the, first time.

But if they were going to have Isabelle as their companion, they had to be completely open about themselves. They had to. Or else, it would risk miscommunication. To Scarecrow and Jonathan, miscommunication between them led to big problems. A lot could happen within a person, more than most people could grasp, but they knew. Yes. They both knew. If one of them decided they weren't happy, the other one dearly had to pay for it - without ever escaping their head. As consequence, they'd worked on unifying their method of communication. And Isabelle, she'd be in a relationship with the two of them whether she liked it or not. Of course, the relationship part was voluntary but if she had a relationship with Jonathan, it would be with Scarecrow too, and the other way around.

Jonathan was approving of the idea of telling Isabelle everything, his whole life story. His thoughts, how Scarecrow came to be. He hadn't told her before, when Isabelle and Jonathan were growing up together, simply because he hadn't seen the need, and the topic never came up. God, that was bad. He should have said something to his only friend. But he'd been afraid of making her go away. He didn't want to lose the only companion who'd ever willingly stay in his presence when he was a teenager. Now Jonathan was older, he thought differently, more responsibly. Jonathan believed that knowledge was empowering - after all, look at his life - and thought Isabelle should be as informed as possible. After all, they'd be spending a lot of time together from now on.

Scarecrow wasn't ashamed - of himself, of telling Isabelle everything. He'd never been ashamed. Jonathan had tried to keep Scarecrow from Isabelle when he was growing up because Scarecrow was always in the back of his head, cackling and planning ways to kill people. It was a way to keep her safe. But, Scarecrow had been out the whole night last night with her and hadn't killed her. Which was odd. Strange. Jonathan hadn't believed in him. The man lived off of fear, for God's sake. If there was a potential test subject, why wouldn't he go for it? Perhaps Jonathan didn't know him as well as he thought he did. But there were a lot of exceptions that came with Isabelle. Oddly, that didn't annoy him. He hated exceptions to rules, but Isabelle still somehow fit in his view of the world. And when he thought about his own views objectively, as he had always been capable but frankly sometimes lost it, despite his reluctance to believe in the fantastic, she just, fit, in his view of the world. Everything made sense with her. Sometimes.

In his view, she was next to him. That made sense.

He'd never meant to kidnap her a second time - he'd just meant to lure her to the car, just for a day or two then he'd let her go. That way, he'd have her with him for a bit, and when he'd let her go, it would build trust, which he wanted to build again. He wanted her back, truly back, not something cheapened by force. But he'd gotten ahead of himself, he lost his logical thinking for a moment, just a moment, and then she fell into his arms, knocked out. Pressure point in the neck. Jonathan often did extra studying, pursuing his own topics of interest. One, once, was pressure points and what they did to the body. He happened to remember the exact one in the neck that could render a person unconscious. He also remembered others with his remarkable memory, but they were not applicable to building trust with Isabelle again, which was now his new objective. At the park he _had _to take her to his car then, she was knocked out. Prone. Ready. Once the first domino was in effect, he couldn't stop the rest. It was all so perfect. Everything fell together. He was giddy but at the same time he felt guilty for when she would wake up and she'd take it as being kidnapped again. She wouldn't see the flawlessness of his plan. Which was a shame, really.

Through his own impulsiveness and obsession his relationship with Isabelle suffered. He'd have to rebuild trust with her again. He'd have to rebuild _everything _again. Thankfully, he had Scarecrow. As much as he argued with him in that bathroom, their thoughts somehow unified, crystallized into form a plan.

* * *

There is a lot more to come with this story.


	57. Chapter 57

It's nice to see that my reviewers are thinking deeply about what's happening and analyzing things. I enjoyed reading what you were thinking.

* * *

Isabelle went to the bathroom and brushed her teeth with a toothbrush lying in a holder and some toothpaste lying next to it. She went to the toilet then came out with the sound of the toilet flushing behind her, into her room. She felt like she needed to sleep some more. It must only be about 8 am. Then she saw Jonathan in her doorway. It was about equal distance from Isabelle to her bed, and from Isabelle to Jonathan.

"May I come in?" He asked.

"No." She said, because she didn't feel like it. She spent the whole of last night and evening with him, she was a little wary of interaction right now.

"I have to tell you something."

She nodded. He walked in. She was standing in the middle of the room, while he told her everything. His home life, how he met Scarecrow, and he told her what he thought of her and the world over the years as he grew up. He told her everything, what was running through his mind as things happened, how his grandmother died, and what and how Scarecrow thought of Marcus Garvey, the boy who grabbed her when they were just teens. At the end of it, Isabelle deduced that it was indeed Jonathan's actions that made her bullies stop in school when she was young.

Isabelle had went to sit down on her bed when she realized the speech was quite long. Then when it was finished, she wasn't sure what to do. What was done was done. It was a little surprising, most of it. Okay, in fact, she was quite shocked. She didn't expect all of that to be going on in her friend's head. She stood up, sighing, thinking that she was going to go to bed when a look changed in Jonathan's eye.

"Isabelle... say something." He looked imploringly at her. She walked over a few steps, a bit less than she would have been able to before she knew everything.

"Fine." She said, calmly, neutrally. "I'm fine." It was the only thing she could say for sure. Everything else she didn't know how to think about. His actions were his own and he'd have to answer for them someday. She couldn't judge his actions.

He walked over to her, making her feel a little strange. Not only was it her feelings for him, it was also unsurety - in the light of everything -, and hesitance - would he do anything to her?

He fell to his knees in front of her, surprising her. She wasn't sure whether to move or not. He gripped her hips and she put a hand on his shoulder out of slight fright and unsurety, as well as to steady herself. She felt a squeak come out of her throat when he kissed her stomach, pushing kisses into the shirt fabric over and over, traveling around her stomach and belly button. He was holding her hips and waist, his fingers spread out.

Isabelle wasn't sure what to do. She didn't not like it, she actually liked it, but she just felt hesitance. She didn't know what to do or say.

He wasn't kissing her because he was desperate that she was accepting him, he was kissing her simply because he wanted to. Sure he was glad she didn't run from him, but he wasn't too worried about that. They would be together. He was just glad she was here, with him. He enjoyed that while he gave her affection, she accepted it. That's what he really enjoyed. He didn't particularly care whether or not she accepted his actions. They were done and over. He told her so that she would come to trust him, not to look for her acceptance. But here, when he touched her, her acceptance of it was what he was after.

He put his cheek onto her stomach and sighed, pressed against her legs, practically hugging her with his hands behind her waist.

"My goddess." She found her hand stroking the back of his hair on his head.

"...Goddess?" She said, as if confused. With his cheek on her stomach, he tilted his head up to look past her breasts to her face.

"Yes. You're my goddess. Always have been." He blinked slowly, then returned his face to the proper and more comfortable level and rubbed his cheek against her soft shirt. She only kept one hand on his shoulder and the other holding the back of his handsome jet black hair. He closed his eyes and listened to the beat of her heart encased in her ribcage just above his head. He was lulled into a hypnotic silence. He wouldn't move away, even though a part of him wanted to. He felt her shift slightly and he sluggishly moved his head away. He decided he was not done, and he kissed her stomach again. He kissed and kissed along an invisible line up the center of her body, up her stomach, along the bone that connected her ribs in the center, to the part between her collarbones then to the side of her neck, holding her to him as he kissed her there several times. When he stopped he pulled away and took a breath, letting his grip go gently and their bodies, pressed flush, parted just slightly.

Isabelle had never been kissed or touched like that before. Although it felt intensely - surprisingly - good, Isabelle pushed Jonathan away at arm's length once he'd completely stood up.

She turned and walked to her bed.

"I'm not going to be able to think properly about anything until I sleep." She slid under her purple covers. "Goodnight."


	58. Chapter 58

If her reaction to him stunned him or offended him he didn't show it. In fact, he didn't seem to think so at all. He just stared Isabelle's way, remembering what it felt like with her in his bed, before he turned and quietly shut her door so she would have some privacy and quiet to sleep soundly. He walked down his winding staircase to his basement - the one and only place Isabelle would never be allowed to go in her new home. Down there was his work. And he'd try everything he could keep her out of that harm's way. In the basement he worked for several hours near lab equipment with his equations and designs written in cursive, the papers a little un-neat for his tastes. While his mind worked so intensely, creating, he didn't focus so much on the neatness of his papers. Organization, yes. He needed things in certain places to be able to find them when he needed them to do his work. The new batch was almost ready.

He looked at his watch then decided it was time for lunch. He got up and walked upstairs.

* * *

Isabelle woke up a few hours later and felt refreshed. She stretched in bed, then pulled the covers off and sat up. She listened for Jonathan anywhere in the house, but she couldn't hear anything. She leapt out of bed, the first thought in her mind going to leaving and going home. She fantasized that she'd be able to get downstairs, get out the house all without him stopping her. Simple. Like last time. Yet, not.

She crept out her doorway then moved down the hall on her tip toes. She passed his room and peeked in - nobody there. She got to the stairs and practically ran down it. Once she got to the bottom, she stopped, and listened.

"Ah, Isabelle," She turned and saw Jonathan standing in a room through a doorway. He was smiling at her. "I'm making lunch. Would you care to eat?"

She moved over to his doorway, finding it odd that he would be cooking anything, and sat down at the counter top.

"I didn't know you cooked." She said when he put a plate down in front of her.

"I cooked for you last night, and you didn't think I cooked?"

She looked up at him before picking up a fork. "No I mean, I thought it was really good takeout. I didn't see you prepare it at all."

He hummed and sat down next to her with his own plate and began eating. He'd prepared their first meal together while she'd been unconscious. He remembered he was anxious and his palms were sweaty while he cooked. Today, however, lunch was simple. He was tired from working on his toxin for so long without a break. He just wanted to eat.

Isabelle was tired, and frankly trying to understand everything.

Neither of them wanted to talk, it seemed, because neither of them instigated conversation through the meal.

Once Isabelle's stomach was full she felt content. She sighed, only crumbs left on her plate and wiped her hands over it so that the crumbs would fall onto the plate.

"Thank you for the lunch," She said. He nodded tiredly, finishing not long after her.

He thought about going to take a nap. But that brought to mind an idea.

"Isabelle, I know I brought you here without your immediate consent," He began. He looked at her. Because of the angle of his face she saw a flash of his teenage self. "but I want you to please try and enjoy it here. I only brought you here to be happy." He turned and looked back at his plate while he finished off some bits he saved for last, "You can even return to work, if that makes you happy. As long as you return here everyday. To your home."

Isabelle felt relieved that she could work. But hang on a minute, wasn't she going to leave? She felt torn, she really, really did. She wanted to stay. She lived alone in an apartment in a big city when she was a small town girl, and here was her only friend - long time friend -, and only person she felt a true connection to, offering for her to live with him. It would help her save money, she could keep more of it and put it in her savings. They'd have to discuss finances. Still, while Isabelle was having these thoughts she had the feeling not to get too comfortable. That morning along with everything else, Jonathan told her that she didn't have an apartment anymore - he paid for the last month's rent and the deal was closed. So she didn't have an apartment. Okay. No where to live.

"I wish you'd just let me think about it first." She said. "Besides, you already closed up my apartment anyway."

"Mm." He nodded. "All your stuff's here."

"What?" Her answer was sharp. "Where?" She hadn't seen _any _of it, except in her room. She'd heard him say it before but for a crazy moment, she hadn't thought he was serious. Jonathan was always serious, like herself.

He looked around.

"It's here." She looked about.

"My stuff's _here_?"

"You didn't have a lot." He said, turning back to his plate.

"I don't even recognize any of it." I said.

"There's your couch, there." He gestured.

"Where?"

He pointed. She followed it.

"_That _one?"

"Mm."

"It looks different."

"Maybe it's the setting. Your apartment was likely your place of healing and place of being broken. Now it's in a different setting you don't recognize it all that well." The words coming out of his mouth were seamless, like everybody knew it.

She thought about it, then nodded.

"It's true."

"Mm."

"Broken from you."

He looked at her.

"And your father."

She stared at him in calm silence, beginning to realize she felt upset.

After a moment he said,

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to hurt you." Referring to the kidnapping. "I had to get Scarecrow to stop. And I didn't know I was planning it all until I had you in my grasp already and by then, I didn't want to."

"So you wanted to kidnap me."

"Yes. To keep you out of harm's way." He didn't include the part it was to also prevent himself from harming anyone else. He didn't think of the consequences, or how she would feel during or after it. He just knew that he was hers and she was his.

She took in a shaky breath and let it out, feeling like she was going to cry. He studied her face, that was looking away from him. He wiped his mouth with a napkin then stood up from his stool to help her off, but she didn't let him. He tried for her hand, and she let him take that. He started to lead her to the living room but she snapped her hand out of his and ran up the stairs. His heart started thudding in his chest, thinking she was going to escape but he heard her bedroom door swing shut and felt some relief. He looked longingly to the stairs, wishing to go and comfort her, but he knew he had to stay out for now.


	59. Chapter 59

Jonathan hadn't brought anything with him to their exchange on the bench in the park. No syringes, no gas, no sleeping agents or sedatives. Nothing. He'd asked, and was fully ready to take no as an answer. Later, he'd thought, the answer would be yes, once she started trusting him again, when she started seeing him like when they grew up together. They would be together, whether it was today or tomorrow, proverbially speaking. He didn't want to do things the way he had the time before. The last time, he'd taken her out to see Gotham. The entire time, trying to work up the nerve to put the pill in her drink. A little white pill. All it had to do was be crushed, and she would be out for hours. And it'd worked. He'd driven back to Georgia. There was no way he could take a sleeping woman on a flight. The flight was a few hours, the car drive many, many more. She'd woken up in the middle of it, but he quickly pushed a pressure point and she was out again. He fed her some coffee with another crushed little pill in it through her lips while she sat lax in the car seat. He'd been so scared she'd wake up before they got there, but she hadn't.

He was going to ask her to get in the car, for the one night, or the week, or whatever. He just wanted to show her a good time, what being with him would be like with the choice for her to back out - for the whole thing to be voluntary. That's what he wanted for her. He didn't want to force her or hurt her or drug her. Before he'd been so desperate. So deprived of her. Three years! Imagine the state he'd worked himself into. As soon as he got back to the town he grew up in, and saw the vision herself in front of him... But not just now. Not then. He saw how well that turned out the last time. He lost her, she left him, and worst, she was traumatized by the entire experience and now he had to win back her trust and affection.

* * *

Jonathan waited downstairs for about 15 minutes. He longingly looked up like a puppy to the empty staircase, not seeing her come down. Why'd he have to go and tell her everything? Be honest with her? That was Jonathan's nature - honesty. If she asked him a question, he'd answer it honestly. It was one of the things between them when they were growing up in high school together - they could be blunt with one another. But now he was sitting there on his couch - did he really have to tell her and upset her? He leaned forward and sighed, steepling his hands and resting his forehead against the tips of his fingers. Yes, she needed to know.

Scarecrow was silent within him. Jonathan imagined he would be whispering words with a snake tongue by now, but no, the other was silent. Jonathan suspected it was because she was under their roof. It would be an entirely different story if she were somewhere else. All the evidence pointed to that, anyway, Jonathan thought.

A moment later an idea formed in his mind, in both Scarecrow and his mind, although it leaned more towards Scarecrow's idea, his curiosity, combined with Jonathan's practicality.

_She doesn't want to see us, stop it._

In response the images just got worse - harmless images really, nothing sexual, but they tugged at Jonathan. He could see himself going up the stairs, turning with the steps, opening her door, and seeing her there, crying and upset. He'd see the light reflecting off the tears on her face, and he'd go in and give her comfort. His Isabelle.

**_Ours._**

He definitely wanted to go up there, but he couldn't. She ran from him - she needed time alone. He dragged himself off the couch to find the remote and turned it on, the volume moderate. How many things reminded him of her, when he'd been separated from her for a year. Watching TV on his own brought him memories of the bunker when they'd watch TV together. On TV was the news channel. He unconsciously waited to hear anything on Isabelle. But of course that was ridiculous - Isabelle wasn't missing. She'd been in his house one night, and now, morning. It was her day off, as he'd planned, and she didn't have any pressing engagements or anybody to see. She wouldn't be on the news.

He heard soft padding on the carpet and saw Fluffy. He leaned forward, clapped his hands between his knees and whistled. The canine happily trotted over to be petted and scratched on his neck and head, loving the affection.

"C'mon, go see your mistress," He let Fluffy take the stairs before he did, waiting at the bottom. Fluffy paused on a step and looked back at him. Jonathan put up his hands, pretending to look. "Where's she?" Fluffy put his nose to the ground then yapped, jumping up the stairs. "Good boy!" He cooed quietly so Isabelle wouldn't hear him, hearing Fluffy's nails tap on the floor before he stopped he assumed, in front of her door. No, he started walking again, slowly. Then they stopped again. Jonathan heard her door open and Fluffy must have padded in because he couldn't hear him anymore - his nails on Isabelle's plush carpet instead of the wood in the hallway. To confirm his suspicions, he heard the door quietly close shut.


	60. Chapter 60

Isabelle felt happy when she heard Fluffy come to her door and she got up to let him in. She sat down on the bed, still crying, but smiling through her overwhelmed feelings and rubbed Fluffy all over, the dog loving the affection as he lay down next to her. Gosh, Isabelle didn't know what she was feeling. She was feeling anger, sadness, desperation, she felt like she was experiencing every emotion known to man on this giant emotional roller coaster. She had to calm down. Her eyes glanced around the room. There was a glass of water on her bedside table she hadn't touched before, no doubt Jonathan put it there for when she'd first woken up in this place but she hadn't noticed it then, and drank it until it was gone. She went back to her bed and lay back on her pillow. It smelt like it had never been used.

She felt so tired. She closed her eyes for only a moment and fell asleep.

* * *

Jonathan had been in front of his television for a while before he decided to get up and clean up his and Isabelle's lunch plates. He put them in the sink - he didn't own a dishwasher, waste of money considering he lived alone and had to only wash one set of dishes that he could do in 2 minutes by hand - and turned, considering it was time to go back into the basement to work on his toxin. He thought about washing the dishes now, instead of later, because later there would be dinner plates and then they may not all fit in the sink then, then he rolled up his sleeves - casual clothing, since it was his day off from Arkham Asylum, although truly it was never his day off, he was always working even when he felt like resting for once, it was just the way his mind worked - and washed the dishes. When he was done and the white dishes were on the black rack, he wiped his hands on a grey dish towel, sniffing. He further wiped his hands on his pants before descending the stairs to his basement. Not of course without a bathroom break first, because he knew how he never liked interruptions in his work even if they were his own needs. It annoyed him completely.

* * *

When Isabelle awoke Fluffy was lying next to her. She sat up and looked at the window to guess the time of day - certainly further into the afternoon but it wasn't any darker. She couldn't have slept for more than a couple hours. She felt honestly refreshed - but parched. She opened her door, not caring if she was quiet or loud, he could know if she was there, he could not know she was there, she didn't care. She was allowed the luxury of moving however she liked because he brought her here in the first place. Isabelle descended the stairs like it was her house - quite flamboyantly for her, and she realized she didn't recognize herself - and when she got to the bottom floor she stopped it, feeling uncomfortable. She walked out onto the bottom floor the way she usually would - calm, and other adjectives she couldn't think of right now.

"Jonathan?" She called out somewhat apprehensively, wanting to see where he was so she could talk to him. She heard no answer. She went to the kitchen, and didn't know what was okay - should she use a glass, or a mug, or did he have bottles of water set out? She took a glass.

Once she was finished drinking, she began to feel better already. She drank another glass just in case. Sometimes she had water, felt better, then half an hour later she was dehydrated because she didn't take that extra drink earlier.

She couldn't find Jonathan anywhere. Maybe he went out, she thought. She went to the living room and picked up the remote for a lack of anything better to do. She watched TV, the thought niggling in the back of her mind that he would abduct her, then go out and leave her alone? How strange. She couldn't figure it out.

Hours ticked past, and she eventually got up when she got bored of the television and made her way through the house, intent on exploring. She passed a door that looked like the others - but she'd never seen it before. She noticed that the door was hidden in plain sight.

_Odd, _she thought. But left it alone.

She walked away into the hallway to find something else to do when she heard muffled footsteps. She turned around, and the next thing she knew the door she had just discovered opened and Jonathan walked out, obviously slightly unhinged.

She went to say his name, but when she saw that he was slightly unkept in his manner, completely absorbed in his thoughts, she stopped. He seemed ignorant of how frazzled both he and Scarecrow were, and how obviously the two were present, how distinct the two presences were. Isabelle was struck by it - never before seeing his attention not being on suppressing himself or Scarecrow's presence. They were both raw, natural, and very absorbed in whatever they were thinking.

Jonathan closed the door behind him and turned. With surprise on his face as he saw Isabelle.

She just stood calmly, wondering what he was going to say next.

She could see the barriers go up, and Scarecrow diminish, the naturalness of the whole thing decay.

"Isabelle, you're awake." He let out a breath in a smile that could indicate either nervousness or disbelief. She didn't know how to take it. He smiled. "It's nearly time for dinner, isn't it?"

She didn't know what the time was.

"No, it isn't." She said confidently. It was too light to be anywhere near dinner.

He licked his lips. He was surprised she was honestly talking to him - he didn't expect her to want to be around him.

"Hah." He scoffed. "Well, would you like to do something?"

She was still gazing at him calmly.

"No, not particularly."

"Hm." He nodded. He started walking, approaching near where she was and kept going. She turned after him and followed him. As they walked, he thought about taking her hand but he didn't dare to. He was keenly aware of her presence although he tried not to be as they walked into the next room which was the living room.

"I want to talk." She said from behind his shoulder. He nodded.


	61. Chapter 61

Just-Me-and-My-Brain: They are out together when he's working on the toxin, and when they're completely alone Jonathan doesn't have to focus on the mental barriers or appearing normal. He just isn't.

* * *

"I just don't get it," Jonathan sighed and put his head in his hands. Isabelle had her hand over her forehead, leaning against the side of the couch while Jonathan sat on the coffee table. "I'm sorry - I just don't. It doesn't make any sense." They'd been talking for who knows how long now.

Jonathan stood.

"Isabelle, how many times do I have to explain it to you? There is no other way to explain it."

Isabelle started laughing, her hands falling into her lap.

"Well, okay. I am just never going to understand it." She moved around the couch and slumped into a seat, her temple lightly resting on her knuckles.

Jonathan regarded Isabelle with undisguised thought. She was trying to understand it, which he admired her for, but there simply was no other way to explain it. He had to fix her sadness.

"There's nothing to do but accept it." He slid off the coffee table. "And there's nothing to fear, but fear itself." He slid onto the seat next to her. He slowly took her hand, inwardly preparing himself for her to pull it away but finding a raw feeling in his heart at even the idea that she would do that and only being able to half way prepare for that, and let out a breath when he pulled her hand up to his lips successfully and kissed the back of it. She looked at him in the corner of her eye before blinking and looking forward. "And you're different from them. All of them." She turned to look at him, finding his statement odd and curious as to his thinking behind it. "You're not supposed to fear."

"I have a limbic system," She sneered at him. "An amygdala, of course I'm going to feel fear. It happens."

"Well," Jonathan persisted, "You have nothing to fear with me,"

The room had a deafening silence as she listened to his words. He inched closer.

"Here, in my house,"

He inched closer again, holding her hand in both of his.

"Under my protection."


	62. Chapter 62

Things were weird for a while. Quiet, for a while. Distant.

Weeks passed. Isabelle went to work during the day, and she came home in the evening, still completing her assignments. She couldn't believe how normal everything was. How nothing had changed at her work. How no one knew.

She and Jonathan would see each other from across the house, then would awkwardly move away. Not so much on Jonathan's part, but Isabelle's. She tried to take her meals apart from him, and went to her room to work so she wouldn't see him in the evening when he came home from the Asylum. She had a lot to sort out. Seeing him just made it harder.

After a few weeks, Isabelle was sitting in the living room, drinking a cup of tea. She heard Jonathan coming down the corridor, and gave him eye contact. They kept eye contact for a few micro seconds, before he moved out of her sight and she heard him in the kitchen, putting the kettle on.

"I made some already," She called. She heard quiet, then the kettle turn off.

It was the first time she'd willingly spoken to him first over something that wasn't about groceries, toiletries, or where something was. Isabelle returned to her tea, feeling mixed feelings over her opening the lines of communication again. She felt anxiousness, apprehension, giddyness, and happiness. She was talking to her best friend again. A best friend who really, really liked her. Loved her, as he'd said in their last conversation that had a personal nature to it.

She was surprised, but glad that Jonathan was giving her so much space. It let her clear her head.

That night they took their meals separately. It was a routine they had, she went to the kitchen and ate first, then after she finished and left she'd hear him go to the kitchen and eat. But there was a break in routine that night as well. Usually right after dinner Isabelle would go up the stairs to her room and work on her assignments. Jonathan had taken to either going to the basement or going up to his room as well.

She heard him ascending the stairs, probably assuming she had gone to her room already, so she called to him from the living room.

"Do you want to watch a movie?"

She heard the steps on the staircase pause.

She raised the remote and clicked the button to turn the TV on. She didn't push him, wondering if he was mad or even wanted to watch a movie with her, when she heard footsteps come back down and along the hallway to the living room. When Jonathan entered the room she smiled at him then returned to the TV. He smiled back at her.

The TV was static before it switched over to the DVD player. The DVD player ejected. She looked at him.

"What do you want to watch?" She surprised herself with how civil and calm she was. But that happened often with Jonathan.

He was indifferent to the movie, so she picked on they hadn't watched yet. It was a Kung Fu film. Half way through it got a bit weird for both their tastes and they turned it off. She laughed and instead put on a western cowboy movie, which wasn't that much good either.

Throughout the movie she was aware of Jonathan next to her. She had to force herself to focus on the movie completely to forget his presence.


	63. Chapter 63

The truth was, she'd never felt uncomfortable or awkward before around Jonathan in her life until now. She turned the movie off when it was done, looked at Jonathan and smiled, then made her way upstairs to go to bed. It wasn't late, it was 9 pm.

As she sat on her bed, she realized she wasn't tired so she probably wouldn't fall asleep. She looked out the window. She heard Jonathan come up the stairs and she panicked. She'd left her door open. She looked out her doorway just in time as he came up the stairs. They caught eyes where he was lingering by his door, before he went in and closed the door behind him. It took a few minutes to register his soft,

"Goodnight,"

Isabelle felt discouraged. She thought that showing Jonathan she was warming up to him would bring them closer again, like they used to be. It would bridge the gap. The fact that there were no visible results made Isabelle slightly hurt, even though she thought that was irrational. She felt hurt and she felt guilty. She was sincerely trying.

* * *

The next day was her day off. It was the only day off that coincided with Jonathan's. Still, Isabelle found he tended to work even on his day off. So she was surprised that morning when at 9am, the time she was always up and ready, there was a knock on her door. She called for the person to enter, and Jonathan walked in. There was nothing on his face or in his body language to give away what he thought. Whether he was hurt, happy, sad - she couldn't tell. She felt anxiousness because of that. As he stepped in and closed the door, she saw what he brought with him. It was a small tub, like one for body lotion or something. She looked up at him puzzledly.

He looked at her but said nothing while he walked over. She had been sitting on her bed, contemplating what she was going to do that morning since Jonathan was usually in the basement at this time of day on his day off - or was that only because they'd been distant from each other?

He stopped halfway to her, looking down at the tub in his hands and turning it over fidgetingly. She felt if she said something it would break the spell and she'd somehow push him not only out her door, but out her life.

"I got this for you." He said quietly. "Not too long ago. A gift." He took a large step foward with his gangly legs and set it down on her bed next to her. As he pulled away, he looked at her, and she felt oddly like he was looking for her approval. She'd wanted to read the cover of the circular tub, but her eyes were glued to his. She broke the contact to quickly read the cover, then looked back up and said,

"Thank you." She grasped the tub and brought it into her hands. "I appreciate it." She said. She'd had her own lotion back at her apartment, since her skin could get dry. She didn't have one in the weeks she'd been here.

Jonathan nodded quietly. She could sense he was going to leave.

"Would you like to do something?" She said quickly before he could turn to leave. "We could... I don't know. Do something together. Just sit and talk, or something. It doesn't have to be anything fancy..."

There was silence.

"We could have tea." She suggested. He smiled.

* * *

During tea, they both opened up and it seemed like the world had never been better. It was like they'd never been apart. Isabelle was happy the awkwardness was over and she felt like she could now talk to and approach her... her what? Roommate, friend, stranger, acquaintance, comrade, companion, what? She didn't know what to call him, but when they talked, she'd never felt closer to anyone else.

Jonathan had left Isabelle alone for quite some time. The reasons were to give her space to think, and also to earn her trust. He'd had several opportunities to not give in to his impulses, and he'd failed. This was not one of those times. The few weeks they'd been slightly estranged was difficult for him but he was both perplexed and pleasantly surprised at his ability to not rush Isabelle. He could see it was one of those moments she had to come to him. Jonathan was a man known for his patience, calculation and detachment. But in the area of his life that contained Isabelle, he was aggressive, impulsive, and headstrong. He'd asserted himself forward most of the way through their relationship, with detrimental effects. He'd been far too aggressive. And Jonathan was a man of logic, of plans. If something wasn't working, it was simply madness to keep doing the same thing. He had to try something else, because coming directly and straight on wasn't working with Isabelle. So he had to step back. It was a time when Isabelle had to come to him. The ball had been in her court. With his confession of everything and who he really was, and then his confession of how he felt about her - it wasn't love, it was something else, something beyond that stupid word - the ball was in her court. He could tell immediately that she was stressed. He saw that every day. He noticed the more space he gave her, and the longer it went on, the more she relaxed. He could see her thinking things through. He saw for the first time how wrong he'd been - he really shouldn't have been so aggressive with his affections. This was the only area of his life where he was so impatient and aggressive. He'd never seen that until he realized how much more relaxed Isabelle was when she had space. He felt mildly ashamed.

It was so difficult to stay away, to give her space, to let her come to him. Several times he'd been so impatient. But he'd thrown himself into his work to distract him, and his toxin was coming along perfectly. He'd had a breakthrough the night before his day off, in fact, and he didn't need to work that morning because he'd already met his deadline. But he'd worked extra the last few weeks to distract himself from Isabelle, reminding himself that space was what she needed. Anyone in her position would need time to think things over, even if he couldn't personally imagine it. Becoming even more aggressive or forceful would only make her shrink from him, and that was the last thing he wanted.

After last night when she'd come to him, he wanted to take the morning off from work anyway, to spend time with her. He felt more elated now that he knew for certain she definitely wanted to spend time with him of her own accord - she had invited him into a pastime. He didn't think he would feel different, but he did. He didn't know how to explain it. But her coming to him, of her own accord, seeking his presence, company and conversation made him feel like he did the right thing.

In the weeks of not seeing her or talking to her, he missed her. He missed her eyes, her smile, the way she talked and laughed. He missed her intelligence and conversation with her. People were so dull. Conversing with Isabelle, even if she didn't have the knowledge he did, was stimulating. He had a new found appreciation for her, deepened from their time apart. Even if he didn't say any of this, he felt it.

He wanted so badly to kiss her. But he didn't know if she would be receptive. A forward move now may take him back weeks, and he'd just made progress.

* * *

Isabelle never laughed like she laughed with Jonathan. They were both serious children that grew into serious adults. He never cracked jokes, but he had wit. They could both converse back and forth and be stimulated by the conversation. His wit would make her laugh. She couldn't believe how much she missed this, how much she missed conversation with him, speaking from him, hearing his thoughts on what she said and giving her own ideas to what he said. Correcting each other, as well. To the two of them, it was like grooming each other. It was like checking that the other was mentally up to par, and therefore in good heath. It was like a compliment to one another to correct each other. Whether they knew they were doing it, it wasn't apparent.

* * *

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	64. Chapter 64

Isabelle had quit seeing her therapist months ago, long before she'd met Jonathan again. Isabelle hadn't called her mother or gotten a call from her. Isabelle had simply forgot, with the so many things on her mind the last few weeks. She thought, however, that it was healthy to have some more distance from her mother. She needed it.

Isabelle came out of the shower and put on some deodorant - which she bought. She bought her own toiletries and other things for her own needs, minus food. Jonathan seemed to just take care of that, and they hadn't had a conversation on joint expenses. But Isabelle was proud to be able to buy her own things and was stubborn on that - even if he asked, she would say no. In her bathroom, Isabelle picked up the lotion that Jonathan had got her. She felt that using it would mean that she accepted him, and she'd somehow perversely let him into her life. It would be accepting where she was. She put the tub down and towel dried her wet hair. She lifted her head back up, wrapping her hair in the towel, and noticed her skin was dry. She opened the tub and used it, feeling satisfaction at having moisturized skin. She'd forgotten week after week to get moisturizer for herself after her own one ran out weeks ago. She kept meaning to but forgot. Every night she was reminded when she got out the shower. She'd make a mental note to put it on a list but then she'd walk out the bathroom and forget. It felt so good to have something she had had before. But at the same time, she felt she'd unconsciously accepted Jonathan.

But was that so bad? She felt the things she felt when she was with him with no one else. The more Isabelle analyzed it, the more she realized she didn't really have a reason to push him away. She just found accepting people so difficult.

But she did accept Jonathan on some level, didn't she? Or else she would have reported him to the police as her abductor, she would have done so the first time and now. She would have completely blocked him out both times as well. But she didn't. When they were growing up, she willingly spent her time around him and conversed with him. She'd have to force herself to with anyone else. He treated her well. He never hurt her, hit her, manipulated her, or neglected her. The only thing he hid from her was his feelings for her and the Scarecrow, who she accepted intrinsically as well. She couldn't believe the level of space she wanted. Years after knowing Jonathan, she still wanted a slight bridge between them, even if at the same time she wanted them to be close. Feelings were so confusing, and Isabelle got dressed while trying not to think more on it.


End file.
